


Blessed

by jaimistoryteller



Series: Blessing [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Bonding, Death, Discussion of Violence, F/M, First Love, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Rebirth, Resurrection, Supernatural Elements, bagginshield
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-26 02:37:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3833839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimistoryteller/pseuds/jaimistoryteller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo rarely prays, he doesn't see the use, but sometimes, just sometimes when the situation is dire he does, and the results are staggering</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by these two posts on tumblr [First ](http://traumachu.tumblr.com/post/117520413839/radiorcrist-im-going-to-take-care-of-you) and the [ Second](http://shortcrust.tumblr.com/post/113292166888). 
> 
> Any comments would be greatly appreciated, thank you to any one for any form of communication, I love it and it keeps me writing!
> 
> Tumblr about my stories: [ JaimiStoryTeller](http://jaimistoryteller.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Quick Notes on the Alpha/Omega: Not the typical verse, details will be covered in the story by Bilbo at least
> 
> Speaking Notes: _Telepathy_ , "regular", " **command** "

She awakes to one of her Blessed praying, begging, pleading for her to help his friend. Madness has taken him away, made a once caring, loyal, and honorable person into nothing more than a shell. Curious, she uses the stones, earth, and precious metals to learn of this friend. Learning all about his history, that of his family, and the war going on. Liking what she sees, she uses the gold he is currently walking on to connect with his mind.

 _Remember who you are._ She whispers through his mind as she slowly draws the poison of madness from him.  _Come back to yourself._

She stays connected to him as his mind heals. 

Out of curiosity, she looks to the others, learning of the two younger nephews and their mother, his sister. They are honorable, loyal, and caring as well. Actually, the youngest of the three is in love with one of the Sky Children, interesting. Even more interesting is the Sky Daughter loves him in return.

Her curiosity causes her to study all of the creatures near by, enraged by those who she feels evil from, rejoicing in those who are good, and sighing over those who are neutral.

Once more her attention is called to by the Blessed. In his arms his arms his friend is dying, his body shutting down from the wound in his chest. 

 _Help him, please save him, please,_ the Blessed begs, his mind voice breaking.

In the Blessed she sees more than just friendship, the true reason for the calling is the fact they could be mates. Never before has her Blessed found someone who completed him, who could be his mate.

There was no way she could allow him to die. So the moment she feels his soul slip from his body she pulls it to her. Encasing his soul in the earth. Her energy slowly pools in the dead form her Blessed's mate once lived in and would live in once more. 

She also feels the death of the youngest and quickly grabs him as well to do the same thing.

She barely feels the passing of the third, just the barest brush of his soul, as his body crashes into the ground lifeless, but perhaps that brush is just enough. Only time will tell.

It will take time, but she will be able to return the Blessed's mate and the Sky Daughter's love.


	2. CH 1: Dreams and Vision

_Tauriel's POV_  
Since leaving the Dwarven and Human lands nearly six months prior, and the blood bath that had occurred there she had often dreamed of Kíli. Sometimes it was things that really happen liked their conversation while he sat trapped within a prison cell. Other times it was things that never happened such as dancing in moonlight, riding through a prairie on their horses, or tangling together in a bed of furs. She knew none of it had ever happen or ever could since he was dead, but her mind still teased her with the possibilities.

The dreams were leaving her restless, disrupting her attempt to find peace with the passing of Kíli. She did not want to return to the Mirkwood and her home there, instead she was traveling to Lothlórien to seek the Lady of Light in hopes that she would be willing to help her understand the dreams and learn to control them.

The trip was not an easy one, nor would it be short, but what is time to an elf? One hundred years or a thousand, it mattered little to one who was ageless. Her only driving force was those dreams, for she feared that they would eventually drive her mad, and that was a terrifying idea.

So she pressed onward, living off the land more often than not, avoiding the cities and villages of man. Only occasionally stopping in the various communities when the need to hear a voice other than her own or those whispering through her mind became too much. Despite her travels, and her restlessness, she continues to maintain herself out of years of habit.

When she finally reaches Lothlórien, she is excited by the prospect of finally getting answers, and hopes that the Lady will help her. So she is greatly surprised when she learns that the Lady is actually in Rivendell. However she is invited to stay in Lothlórien until the Lady returns. It takes her several hours to decide and in the end, it is the fact that she feels more at peace within the community than she has felt since the death of Kíli.

For the next few weeks she stays, mostly sticking to parts left wild and enjoying the solitude, though the dreams, the dreams become more vivid, some even turn to visions. There are several occasions where she is in the middle of something when the brush of a hand against her draws her attention. Twice she had found herself wide awake and staring at the image of her lost dwarf, that slight curve of his lips she remembers from when he had pressed the rune stone to her hand and promised. Some of the visions caused her such sorrow that she would settle on the ground wherever she was and fight the urge to weep, which was just made worse by the phantom feeling of being held by one she knew was gone forever.  


When the Lady of Lórien finally arrives she is overjoyed, perhaps once the Lady is rested she can get the aid she sought. While she is a simple sylvan elf rather than a high elf she is still hopeful. What she does not expect is the fact the Lady comes to her the first night she is home, while she is staring at the stars, thinking back on her conversation with Kíli about them.

 _So quiet yet so very loud,_ she hears whispered through her mind.

Standing, she spins, mildly surprised to see a high elf of shimmering silver, gold, and white. The Lady, her mind quickly supplies her, politely she states, “Greetings Lady,” in Nandorin.

 _I See why you have come,_ the Lady utters, _Such a peculiar happening. For he is dead, and yet,_ she pauses, her clear, icy blue eyes staring off into the distance, as if seeing something she could not, _And yet he is not dead. The dwarf’s soul lives, his body slowly regenerating. How,_ she pauses once more, as if searching for the right word, _amazing. It is most unusual to see someone touched by the Valar._

Silence falls as the older elf stares off into the distance, seeing and yet not.

Her nerves are starting to fray when those sharp, icy eyes turn back to her, _Dwarves, such greedy creatures by nature, and yet, you have won the affections of one who is not, at least for his kind. Return to the Lonely Mountain. There the visions and dreams will end. Though do not think it instantaneous._

Shock washes through her. High elves never encourage any sort of dealings with dwarves as a rule. Many elves see dwarves as annoying, short lived creatures. Yet she is being told to return to the Dwarven city-kingdom of Erebor.

She nods once, accepting the instructions before murmuring, “My thanks, Lady of Lórien.” In the morning she will gather what she needs and make the return trip since she actually has a destination in mind. She knows it will only take two weeks in good weather, maybe a little longer, to reach there by horseback.

 _Until next we meet again,_ the Lady bids her before drifting away without even waiting for a response.

Once the shock wears off, she finds herself relieved. She now has a purpose and a goal, her purpose is to reach Erebor, her goal is for the dreams and visions to stop which they can apparently do at Erebor. Though she will have to discover how they will stop when she is there. She is also going to have to figure out how to deal with the dwarves for the long term while there. No matter, she will deal with it and them.

That night she slept better than she had in months. When she awakes, it is refreshed and ready to gather what she needs for the trip. Things are looking up, despite the grief that still threatens to overwhelm her.


	3. CH 2: Rivendell

_Bilbo’s POV_  
After the battle was done, his friends’ bodies carefully carried to the mountain and prepared for entombing he had decided to leave before the actual funeral. He could not stand the idea of seeing someone else on the Throne Under the Mountain, or to see the person he had connected with laid out in his final rest. The second part of his nature, the part rarely mentioned and rarely thought of was screaming within him. He needed to put distance between himself and the physical site of his sorrow. So he had asked Gandalf to take him home.

After bidding farewell to his Dwarven friends, Gandalf had somehow produced a horse for himself and pony for him, allowing the two of them to be off on the way home. The trip from Erebor to Rivendell went faster than he expected and within three weeks they were at the Elven community.

“Gandalf?” he inquires as they move through the gates towards the community itself.

“Yes Bilbo?” the old wizard replies questioningly, casting a glance in his direction.

“Can we stay here for a time?” he queries softly, eyes a head on the peaceful, graceful buildings.

He knows that the wizard was worried about him, had caught the glances that are occasionally thrown in his direction when the older man thinks he is not paying attention. What he doesn’t know is how to explain that his sorrow is not just that he lost a friend, it is also the fact that his second nature, the part of himself he never talks about, has lost it’s mate. That he could feel the planet weeping for the loss of life, particularly those who were innocent or pure, such as the children and animals.

“As long as Lord Elrond does not mind, we can,” the wizard replies, his tone sounding relieved.

Smiling sadly, he nods, murmuring, “Thank you.” Perhaps here in this peaceful place he will be able to resolve his sorrow, never forget it, merely come to grips with it better than he has in the weeks they were traveling.

A few minutes later they are greeted by the Elven Lord, “Be welcome,” he states, his hand moving in the same welcoming gesture he had previously observed.

Smiling tiredly he replies, “Hello.”

“Oh hello Lord Elrond, would you mind if we were to rest here for a time?” the wizard comments.

“You may indeed,” the elf replies solemnly.

As they dismount, two young-looking elves come for their horse and pony, leading them away. Distractedly, he follows the two older men, not really paying attention as he allows his senses to sink into the surrounding area, all of the plants and animals, all the living things, even the soil and stone beneath them. In this place he feels almost as close to Her as he does at home. Perhaps he can heal spiritually and emotionally while here.

His attention is drawn back to the conversation when he hears his name spoken in a rather concerned manner. “Oh, sorry, what?” he mumbles as he blinks up at the two tall fellows.

Smiling gently, Gandalf inquires, “Are you quite alright Bilbo?”

Blushing, he responds, “Yes, of course, I just, it's very beautiful here. Last time we were here things were a bit of a blur, there was no time to just appreciate that fact.”

“Indeed,” the wizard dryly comments, but there is something in his tone that says he is sure there is more than just that.

The elf merely waits patiently, his face expressionless, his eyes understanding and knowing. “After refreshments perhaps you would care to see the gardens?” the dark-haired elf suggests softly.

Smiling in relief, he nods, “That would be wonderful.”

Inclining his head once the dark-haired elf motions for them to follow before leading them off to a pavilion that has been laid out with drinks and small things to eat. For the most part their meal is quietly, the only sounds being from the wildlife he can hear surrounding them. While the two big folk continue to talk, his mind brings forth the memories of the last time they were here, the tensions he could feel off of Thorin and some of the elder dwarves, the feeling of being safe after finally escaping the goblins and orcs. Thankfully, neither of his companions seems inclined to force a conversation, and while he would talk if they wanted, that is really not what he wants right now.

When they are nod with their rest and meal, the elf motions to a child who had been hovering just outside his range of vision, the dark-haired lad quickly coming over.

“Estel, please show Master Baggins to the Star Gardens,” the dark-haired elf instructs softly, affection in his tone for the boy.

“I will,” the dark-haired human lad responds, for his ears are not pointed at all, turning towards him, and smiling as he greets him, “Hello.”

“Hello,” he replies with a smile to the youth who was close to the same height as him. Standing, he nods to the other two before motioning the young man to lead them on.

Quietly, they make their way through the network of halls and walkways until they reach an enclosed area with delicate walkways that appear to make a starburst pattern.

“Do you know how to get back to your rooms?” the young man asks, tilting his dark head to the side.

“No, but I can ask someone when I am ready, thank you,” he responds as he smiles at the young man.

Bobbing his head once energetically, the youth turns and leaves.

For the next several hours he wanders among the plants and stones. Sometimes staying on the path and other times straying from it. Still he is careful not to step on any of the plants. Eventually he finds a spot that seems right and settles onto the ground, his short fingers sinking into the lush moss and soil below as he allows his grief to pour through him finally, and from him into the ground below, adding it to Her grief over the loss of innocent life.

Hours pass as he stays there, nothing more than a small figure in the garden.

When he finally is ready to leave the garden, he feels better than he has since leaving the Shire. With a light heart he asks one of the elves he spots to show him where the main hall is once more so he can get to his sleeping quarters after getting cleaned up.

Weeks pass in quick succession after that first night, many of a similar nature where he would eat with the others but spend most of his time in the gardens. At night when he sleeps he often dreams of Thorin, but he sees these dreams as gifts from Her, a way to keep his dwarf with him. However not all of his time in the gardens is spent alone, he also spends time with some of the scholars, learning more of Elven customs and the language, listening closely so he can actually pick it up. By the time they are ready to leave, he actually has a pretty decent grasp on the basics of both the written and spoken word much to Lord Elrond’s surprise. He has also made a friend in the human boy Estel.

The night before they are to leave the elf lord inquires after dinner, “Will you walk with me, Master Baggins?”

“Of course,” he replies lightly, he had only planned on spending the remaining time in the Star Garden anyways.

Standing, he follows the elf, slightly surprised when the tall man changes his pace so they can walk beside each other instead.

“You seem different than when you first arrived,” the elf eventually remarks.

The hint of a sad smile curves his lips as he responds, “I’m healthier now, reconnected if you will.”

Silently the tall elf nods once as they continue to walk for a time.

“Can I ask you something?” he inquires, tilting his head to look up at the tall man.

“You may,” he responds, waving one hand before him as if to say proceed.

“Do Elves have a goddess?” he inquires curiously. His own kind had Her, the First Mother, so he was curious who the elves had, or if they even had one.

Startled, the tall elf glances at him questioningly before responding, “Eru created the world and all of creation, including the fourteen Valar. As a race we give praise to Varda, the Star-Queen. However some feel connections to others, including Irmo, Yavanna, Nienna, and Estë.”

Again silence falls for a few minutes before the elf tilts his head and curiously asks, “Why do you ask?”

“We pray to the First Mother, the planet herself from who we came from. I prayed to her then, at the Lonely Mountain and she answered my first prayer, but she couldn’t answer my second.” There is sadness in his tone as he speaks, he had known even as he prayed and begged that she would probably not answer his prayer to stop the dwarf from dying. For one thing, Thorin was not one of hers, for another she rarely interferes in matters of life and death. “I seem different because I was able to connect, to heal, with Her grace.”

“Really?” The elf sounds intrigued and a bit skeptical.

He nods once, “In the Star Garden, I could feel her, the sorrow and pain and sadness, but also her hope, dreams, and love. She mourns for each life lost, whether it is one of hers, or one of the other’s.” he tilts his head up to look at the tall elf, “She created us, and created much of the world, but there were others who added their touches too, created their own species and races, plants and animals. In our belief, this creation by the others did not take away from her grace, but added to it, for it gave her more to love.”

For a time the two of them are quiet as they consider the others words, eventually the elf breaks the silence by remarking, “I had not considered who Hobbits would believe in,” he tilts his head slightly, “I always imagined it would follow the same beliefs as Man.”

He shrugs, “Some do, but not all, a lot of the older families like mine still remember the old ways.” For a bit he is quiet before remarking, “I think that is because they do not have the earth sense, the ability to feel Her.”

“You do?” the elf queries as they turn and enter a different garden, one he is not familiar with.

Nodding, he answers, “All alphas and omegas do, I am an omega.”

“Oh?”

“It is not something very many know, but yes, I am an omega, physically I am male, but when I went through puberty I changed slightly, if I ever found a partner I could be either father with a female, or mother with another male.” He blushes, his tone dropping to a mutter, “I am not sure why I am talking about this, I never mention that fact, particularly since all my books say we’re the only race like that.” His voice returns to normal as he remarks, “My instincts say you will not tell, that you're good at keeping your own council.”

A smile curves the dark-haired elf’s lips as he nods solemnly, “It is a skilled acquired in times past.” Curious the tall man inquires, “What is an alpha then, if you are an omega?”

“Alpha’s are females who can be both mother with a man, or father with a woman. Like the omega traits they do not occur until puberty.” Glancing around at the beautiful garden he continues, “Both sets of traits run in bloodlines, my grandfather Mungo was actually an alpha, but chose to live as a male instead of a female.” He shrugs, “Most people are unsettled by the idea of a man or woman who is not just a man or woman, so we do not advertise it.”

The elf nods solemnly, “Then I will keep your council to myself, however may I speak with the Lady of Light of this in private? We have long discussed the nature of Eru and the Valar.”

After a long moments consideration he nods slowly, “You may.”

Easy silence falls between them as they consider the other more, though his thoughts are more on the journey that they are soon to start.

“My thanks,” the elf eventually remarks as they exit the garden and he is surprised to see how close they are to the rooms, “Rest well, Master Baggins.”

“Goodnight Lord Elrond,” he responds before the elf leaves.

Tomorrow he will start the last half of his journey going home, he is finally ready. Thankfully, Gandalf and the elves have been very understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Publishing schedule, I will update one or two stories on Saturday, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.
> 
> Tuimblr about my writing: [JaimiStoryTeller](http://jaimistoryteller.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I love reviews, comments, and any other sort of communication, feel free to stop in to say hi


	4. CH 3: Of the Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** Major Character Death described at the beginning of the chapter, however not is all lost, about half way down things vastly improve
> 
> Disclaimer: If it looks familiar, its probably from the movie

_Thorin’s POV_  
Pain, lancing and hot, burned through his foot as the orc’s blade thrust up through the ice and into him. He could no more stop the howl of agony that escaped his lips than he could keep from falling backwards onto the ice as the orc burst through the ice. There was a barely a pause between that and it attacking of him, swing at him with its blade as he tries to avoid it. Their blades clashing together as the orc bares down with his entire weight against him. After several long minutes he realizes that the only way to kill the orc is to allow the orc to run him through. There is no other option. The chances of his survival are slim, but it will end this. It will restore the honor he lost to the dragon-gold madness. It will avenge every person that has died because he failed to kill this orc the first time. Kíli will live and continue their line, be a good king. It would restore the honor he lost when he broke his word to the company, Bard, and Bilbo.

Bilbo…

Hopefully he will have a chance to bid him farewell. To apologize for his behavior and beg forgiveness even though he does not believe he deserves that forgiveness.

With his choice made, he breaks free of the lock between their blades, gasping in pain as the orc’s goes straight through his body but he does not forget his purpose, ramming his blade right through the orc. He uses the momentum from his thrust, and the moment of shock from the orc, to roll them so he is astride the orc as he shoves the blade the rest of the way through to the ice below, killing him once and for all.

Weak but determined he gets to his feet, making his way to the ledge staring out at the eagles and the battle below before finally collapsing onto the stone and ice. Pain, deep and fierce, leaves him gasping and barely able to draw a breath.

A moment later the hobbit is at his side, kneeling even as his eyes sweep over him, his expression full of worry and something so much deeper.

“Bilbo…” he sputters, having a difficult time speaking since he can barely breathe.

Pressing one hand to his wound as if to try and slow the bleeding, the hobbit orders him, “No, don’t move,” softly, his emotions creeping into his voice as he continues, “Don’t move, lie still.” The smaller man is still trying to save him even though there is no hope, “Oh,” he mutters brokenly when he actually looks at the wound.

Smiling faintly, he gasps out, “I’m glad you’re here.” Another sharp pain wracks his body, “I wish to pass from you in friendship.” Every word is agony but he has to say it now, there will not be another chance. He has to let his friend know he was wrong, to take back his shameful behavior, to know he is forgiven.

His eyes lock with the younger man’s as the hobbit shushes him, his voice nearly frantic as he states, “No, you,” there is a break in his voice, “You are not going anywhere. You’re going to live,” determine fills his voice too.

“Take back,” he swallows, trying to clear his throat enough to speak, “my words I said at the gate,” again he swallows hard, panting for air, “You did what only a true friend would do.” Somehow, despite the pain of it all he manages to lift his arm to grasp at the younger man’s, “Forgive me.”

Shock and confusion fill the expression of the hobbit as he shakes his head in denial.

“I was blind to see it,” he continues, determined to get it all out, “I” he stutters for a moment as another wave crashes through him, the coppery taste of blood in his mouth warning him his time will be soon be done. “I am so sorry, sorry that I have led you to such peril.” For a long moment he cannot speak as yet another wave crashes through him.

Shifting his arm so he is grasping his hand, the hobbit leans close and tries to reassure him, “No, I’m glad to have shared in your perils, Thorin, each and every one of them.” shaking his head once as he leans forward so they are nearly nose to nose, he states earnestly, “It is far more than any Baggins deserves.”

Relief course through him, a small, pained smile curving his lips, “Farewell Master Burglar,” he takes a shutter breath, “Go back to your books and armchair, plant your trees, watch them grow.” Groaning, he fights to keep his eyes open as he tries to get one last thing out, “If more people valued home above gold, this world would be a merry place.”

Choking on blood, he knows he will say no more even as his friend tries to deny it. It is getting harder and harder to hear or see the hobbit leaning so close. The last thing he feels is not the cold ground beneath him but the gentle touch of a hand against his face as Bilbo murmurs something in his ear.

The next thing he is aware of is the fact that all of his senses seem skewered somehow. He can see himself laid out carefully on a marble altar, his body carefully cleaned and groomed, dressed in the finest armor, robes, with jewels and his crown. Across his chest lay the Orcist much to his surprise but the colors are all wrong. Actually the angle seems wrong too, now that he realizes he can see himself from every angle, some closer than others. It is to his horror when he realizes that both Kíli and Fíli are laid out in similar manners on other altars.

No. This cannot be. But he cannot deny what he can see before him.

However, a presence makes itself known, almost like a mother trying to give comfort to a sick or injured child. It draws his attention away from the forms of them lying dead.

 _Hello?_ He tries calling out only to find he has no voice and that it sounds odd.

Once more he feels the impression of a mother trying to comfort her child.

For a time he drifts, discovering that he can be anywhere made of natural substances such as wood or stone. He sees his sister Dís in her home awaiting news, he sees each member of his company that survived, watches as they argue how to best honor them, even hears part of it, though it is odd and so very muffled, more like vibrations that he can just barely make out as words. He sees Bilbo travelling, at Rivendell, finally reaching his home, as he plants his little oak seed, keeping the second in a small velvet baggie with his magical ring. He watches as his cousin takes his throne, not happily, but doing it out of necessity. Even watches his own funeral as they take him and his beloved nephews into the family crypt, laying them out with full honors.

Surprisingly, most of his time is spent with Bilbo, at least all of the time he is aware of. He is not sure how much time passes before he feels the female presence. Truthfully he has been having such a very difficult time keeping track of time.

 _Come child, it is time to return,_ a gentle voice flows through him, a sense of peace, joy, and love filling him.

 _Return? Return where? Is it time to go to our Ancestral Halls?_ He is confused. Nothing he has ever learned of the afterlife has prepared him for this.

Warmth like a mother's hug fills him, _Oh no sweetling, you are returning to your body now. I have completed my task. All three of you are._

 _I do not understand,_ he thinks, not realizing until she answers that she heard that thought.

 _One of my children begged for your lives, prayed you would survive, that you would come home to him. I am granting that prayer, but it took time, for dwarrow are not my children. Thankfully your kind believes in entombing, not burning, otherwise this might have been far harder to accomplish before he also died._ The gentle voice explains to him, drawing him ever closer to his body.

 _My nephews?_ His voice just about breaks, for he cannot bring himself to finish the question.

 _They will awake too, though the shimmering one may be different, for I am not sure I caught his soul quite soon enough,_ she answers, _now it is time._

With that last word spoken he feels a rush of excruciating pain almost as bad as when the orc had run him through before he is gasping for air. His entire body tingles as if pricked by billions of tiny needles. He is colder than he has ever been before. Each muscle feel as if it has been over used. The sound of his heartbeat seems abnormally loud, drowning out all other sounds. Slowly the feelings of pain start to fade away and he is left merely feeling tired.

Unable to stop himself, his eyes drift shut and he knows nothing more.

The next time he awakes is to the feeling of slender hands touching his face, of someone crying over him.

Slowly his eyes flicker open, only to slam back shut at the sight of the bright light.

“Thorin? Thorin? Thorin!” his sister’s voice seems so very loud, so loud he is not sure if it is her or just his sense of hearing acting up. “Blessed be to Mahal!”

“Sister, be quiet, please,” he rasps out, his throat dry.

“Oh! how foolish! When my Kíli awoke, he was bone dry, you must be too,” she exclaims, a moment later there is a flask being gently pressed to his lips, a hand behind his head lifting him slightly as the cool water drizzles into his mouth.

He had not realized how thirsty he was until that water touched his lips, but soon as it did he struggled to sit up, to take the flask and drink as much of it as he could, only his body barely moved and every motion was agony.

Groaning, his squeezes his eyes as he waits for the pain to pass.

His sisters hand's leave him, as does the presence of her at his side, moments later he finds that there are several hands lifting him, moving him onto a stretcher, a soft cloth placed over his eyes. Tiredly he closes his eyes and the gentle rocking of their steps lull him back to sleep.

The third time he awakes is to Óin carefully checking him. He is no longer in his finery, instead wearing simple sleeping clothes which are so much easier on his senses.

“Óin, water,” he crooks out, immediately the dwarf motions moves away and strong hands help him to sit, while another set of hands help him to drink.

“I cannot tell you how surprised we all are. Such a shame Master Bilbo is not here to see this,” the older dwarf states, his voice oddly soft.

It is then that he realizes that there is something in his ears, something soft and wet actually.

“If you recover the same as our dear Kíli your muscles should be working again about now, though they will be stiff for the first few hours.” The healer remarks as he settles back onto the edge of the bed, waving the person who had helped him to sit aside. “That boy has told a most remarkable tale, and if it was not for the fact that you three have been dead for nearly a year, I would believe he was eating the wrong sort of mushrooms.”

“A year?” he repeats, eyes widening, “You jest.”

Sadly shaking his head, his friend replies, “I do not. All three of you were slain by being run through by orcs on the mountain and yet all three of you are now not dead. Kíli was the first to awaken, then you, and now Fíli. Though he has not yet gotten to this stage, he is still in the slumbering stage that took you three days to pass.”

Closing his eyes he tries to think, to remember the last thing he can, and discovers that most of his recent memories all involve Bilbo, except for the memory of the woman’s voice.

“Tell me Thorin, was it Mahal who sent you back?” the dwarf inquires seriously.

“I never left,” he slowly answers, “There was pain, pain unlike anything I have ever felt before, then there was emptiness that slowly filled with such unusual sights and sounds, mostly I was with Bilbo, he was the only person who seemed to hear me, see me, feel me.” Opening his eyes he stares at his friend, “I must speak with him. As soon as I can travel I must go,” there is an urgency that he does not understand but knows he must answer coursing through his veins. “There was a woman, impossibly old, older than even the elves, but warm and caring as a mother. She’s what brought us back, kept us here, healed us.”

“Do you know if it was Estë or Yavanna?” the older dwarf questions.

Shaking his head slightly, and discovering that most of the pain has passed, he answers, “No, it was someone else, it did not feel like a Vala.”

Before another word can be said there is a loud crashing sound before the doors fly open, his fiery haired cousin strolling into the room, “Thorin!” he exclaims as he stares at him, “By Mahal you are alive!”

“Speak quietly Lord Dáin,” Óin chides, a scowl curving his lips.

Blinking, the red-haired dwarf nods once, “Of course,” his voice lowering in pitch, “Thorin, since you live you are the rightful king of the mountain.”

Surprised, his head jerks around to stare at the red-haired dwarf.

“I am only king because the rightful king was dead,” the dwarf tells him, “the only honorable thing is to return your kingdom to you.”

“After,” he states in shock.

Confused the other dwarf questions, “After what?”

“After I return from the shire, I have a debt to pay, one I am not sure I can pay,” he replies steadily, beginning to move his limbs slowly. He is surprised that the weakness seems to be wearing off.

“What debt is that cousin?” the dwarf inquires confusion and curiosity filling his tone.

“Mine, Fíli and Kíli’s lives,” he answers softly so that only Dáin and Óin can hear him.

Both nod once seriously.

“This is true, if the reason you live is there, you should go,” the red haired dwarf frowns thoughtfully, “What gift could we offer in thanks?”

“I plan to ask him to return here,” he states, rolling his shoulders to work the kinks out of them.

“Allow him to select his own reward? Good idea!” his cousin exclaims, “What shall you need for your travels? I will have it prepared so you may leave as soon as you are ready.”

Closing his eyes, he smiles at the other dwarf’s excitement, “Wish to be rid of me so soon?”

Flustered the red-haired dwarf responds, “Well no, it is just that I miss my home in the Iron Hills, and when you return I may return there.”

He nods in understanding. For years he had spent longing for his home. “At least two changes of clothes, food for three months travel, two ponies or rams, armor, and sword.” That is what he can think of for now, “Basic cooking supplies, bedroll, kinder kit.”

“It will be done, this shire, are they used to rams?”

“Probably not, but they are not used to dwarrows either.” He responds with a smile.

“Lord Dáin, may I suggest you depart for now so that he may gain his rest? I wish to finish checking him.” Óin states clearly, glancing between them.

The red-haired dwarf nods once, before turning and departing in a rather energetic way for a dwarf king.

Turning to him, his friend asks, “Are you sure that is the best choice?”

He nods once, “I am, if She is to be believed, and I believe She is, then I owe him for our lives.”

“Then let us ensure you are fit to travel.” His friend states solemnly.

The next several hours are spent with him working through every possible motion and movement that Óin can come up with, checking his physical reflexes and memory at random intervals and even at the same time. By the time he is done, he is covered in sweat and dust, his body aching from the use of it after so long but it appears that there is no lasting effects to it.

Óin sends his apprentices to have a tub and hot water brought in, apparently the plumbing has not been reconnected in all of the rooms yet, including most of this wing, with it having been working on in the public domains first.

Every dwarf thanks him or welcomes him, depending on their mood and inclement, leaving him feeling a bit confused until Balin comes in and explains everything that has happened in the year he has been gone while he baths.

His reunion with his Fíli and Kíli is full of hugs and back-clapping, though he is surprised when he sees Tauriel there, her willowy elven form out of place among all of the dwarrows. While Kíli seems like he has not changed at all, there is something different about Fíli but it will have to wait until he returns to discover what it is.

At the end of the week, and with far more fanfare than he really likes, he leaves Erebor on a pony, his nephew Kíli and the elf along with him. They travel together until they reach Rivendell, where his nephew and the elf plan to stay for a time before traveling onward, though where to they do not yet know. In Rivendell the elven lord seems surprised to see him, and yet is polite as ever though he only stays a single night before leaving for the Shire. Thankfully the rest of the trip runs smoothly, and he is at the edge of the shire a few weeks sooner than he planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter went nothing like how i planned,, still, i hope everyone enjoyed it!


	5. CH 4: Bag End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of thanks to NoOrdinarySouthernGirl for her help on this chapter and in finding an image that fit what was in my head.

_Thorin’s POV_  
His first thought at seeing the rolling hills of the Shire is this place is odd. He is a dwarf so the idea of living beneath the ground itself is perfectly fine with him, what he does not understand is why they live so close to the surface and with such low defenses. Almost every hill house he sees has windows and doors of the regular variety, non-reinforced anywhere that he can see. There are fences around some of the properties but again they do not look they would be any good during an attack.

It is early morning, barely past dawn with most hobbits still abed he imagines as he glances around. For a long time, he stays where he is on his pony, staring at the sprawling, curving roads of the hobbits community, trying to remember how it is he reached Bilbo’s home of Bag End the last time.

He is still trying to determine what to do when he sees a young looking hobbit, not old enough to be an adult if he is judging the lad’s age properly, but not young enough to be a child with a fishing pole ambling down the road. Perhaps if he offers the hobbit a coin, the youngling will take him directly to Bag End.

“Excuse me,” he calls out as the hobbit gets a bit closer, dismounting from his pony.

Startled, the lass, and now that he is closer he can see it is a female dressed in breaches, jumps a bit, “Can I help you?” she inquires nervously, stepping back a bit with wide eyes.

“I have a message to deliver to Bag End,” he replies, tugging a coin out of his purse he holds it up, “If you would be so kind as to show me the way, you may have this for your time.”

Several long moments pass in silence as the youngling studies him, wide green eyes staring at him as if weighing his words and the coin against what he wants. Nervously, she edges closer eyeing him closely before she nods.

“If you’ll follow me,” she states, motioning towards a side road, keeping just a bit of distance between them and setting off briskly.

He is curious about the fact she is wearing pants when every female he has seen, whether they be babe or elder, has worn a skirt or dress but decides to ask Bilbo about it instead since he does not know her.

After several long minutes, following two different distinct loops, they wind up in front of the familiar green door.

“Bag End,” she announces, waving her hand at it.

He holds out the coin, and she shakes her head before trotting off, edging past him without getting close enough to touch. He is not sure if he should be offended or not, but decides that is a matter that can wait until after he has spoken with Bilbo. Letting himself and the pony into the yard, he leaves Gilla to graze while he steps up to the door. After a quick brush over to make sure he is as presentable as being on the road can allow, he knocks twice at the door firmly.

He is ever so surprised when the hobbit opens the door with a sad smile, murmuring, “Hello Thorin, teas nearly done,” and turning to head back into the house.

Confused, he steps in staring after the smaller man in wonder and worry. Of all the different greeting he had considered, that was not one of them. Frowning, he follows his friend to the kitchen area where he is making two cups of tea, setting the one on the table while sipping at the second. The entire time the younger man talks. Telling him about Hamfest’s garden is doing now that it is late summer. How his little oak tree is growing at twice the normal speed and that he has already gotten several nuts off of it and is thinking of making acorn jam. That perhaps he will visit the Lonely Mountain next year, maybe, just maybe. As the hobbit continues to talk before setting to puttering about his house he realizes he knows of some of the people and things Bilbo is speaking of, he had heard of them plenty of times before while he was a shade.

He is halfway through drinking his tea when the epiphany hits: Bilbo thinks he is still a shade.

Eventually the smaller man wanders over to where he is sitting, talking his tea cup and frowning thoughtfully, their fingertips just barely brushing, “The cups cool, yet you…” his voice trails off as he looks up, his eyes going wide. Slowly the hobbits hand comes up to hesitantly brush against the relatively short bread covering his face. “You’re more solid than the last time I touched you.” The younger man’s voice is nearly broken whisper as he speaks. “You never stay this long. You always vanish on me, leaving me alone here again.”

“Bilbo,” he whispers, lifting a hand to gently rest against the smooth skin of his friend’s cheek, “I am not going anywhere.”

“You feel real, not shadowy, but you can’t be, I held your body as you died,” his hobbit mutters, hand tracing over his face wonderingly.

“A presence like that of an old mother held myself, Kíli and Fíli close. We were part of the earth itself, but it did not feel like a Vala.” He responds softly, “As I got used to being a shade I would visit you, but I am not a shade anymore, She brought us back, though I do not know how.”

Amber colored eyes widen even further before a huge grin stretches across the hobbits face. Quickly the younger man leans up, standing on his toes to press their lips together once, causing him to gasp before he is gone, spinning on his heels and rushing towards the area he knows the younger man’s room is in.

Curious, he follows behind, not wishing to intrude and yet wanting to see what is going on. What he discovers is his little hobbit standing in front of a small, well made flat dark oak chest with lighter wood inlays that match the icon of a tree, possibly a rowan, standing between three candles. There is a little acorn sitting atop a golden ring in front of the icon. Quickly lighting a match, he watches in fascination as the hobbit lights first the center candle, before the left candle, followed by one on the right. Since his ears are not as sensitive as an elf, he cannot hear what the smaller man murmurs, though he knows that he says something.

Finally, he turns to face him, happily beaming as he inquires, “Would you like some lunch?”

Blinking at the sudden change, he nods slowly. Again following as the younger man just about skips to the kitchen once more.

“What is going on?” he asks as settles at the table.

“She answered my prayer,” the smaller man replies as he sets to heating the stove and getting out pots and pans before vanishing into the pantry for a time, re-emerging a few minutes later with a basket of food stuff. “I thought that your shade was the best She could give me, after all, you’re a dwarf.” This is said so matter-of-factly, as if it has anything to do with the subject at hand.

“What does being a dwarf have to do with anything?” he questions, confusion entering his tone.

As he sets to cutting up vegetables the younger man answers, “Because you’re not one of Her children, you belong to,” the hobbit pauses for a moment, tapping his knife absently, “Mahal.”

It takes a moment for him to comprehend, but when he does he nods once solemnly. His friend is referring to their individual creators. So this ‘She’ that the hobbit keeps referring to must be his creator.

“May I ask her name?” he queries, his tone formal.

“Name?” the hobbit repeats turning to look at him, “She has no name other than Mother, Earth Mother, or sometimes First Mother. She is the ground beneath our feet and above our heads, the stone that make up the mountains, every plant and drop of water, each animal that runs across the planet’s surface or swims beneath the seas She is part of. Others may have created some of them, but she cares for them all. She mourns when one dies unnaturally, rejoices at each birth, and cherishes each life. She blesses those who honor her and cares for those who remember her.” When the hobbit stops there is a look in his eyes, one he has seen many times before but had never understood: it is his faith. “With every step I take on this planet I feel my connection to Her flowing through me.”

The only thing he can think to say is a surprised, “Oh,” as he stares at the smaller man.

“Now then, lunch! A tasty salad with fresh ham, pieces of chicken, and bits of venison in it with these rolls here, several different varieties of sliced cheese, a little bit of fruit, and juice to wash it all down.” The hobbit remarks as he goes to setting the table, “Oh yes, mustn’t forget the slices of bacon,” as he works the younger man hums happily, seeming to enjoy himself once there two places set out, the hobbit joins him.

“She implied you prayed for me, that there was something more between us, why?” he inquires after taking some of the salad. He is not a fan of so much green, but there is a fair share of meats and cheeses to make it less green.

Blushing, the hobbit mutters so he can barely hear him, “I’m an omega.”

“Omega?” he repeats questioningly, not know what that word is in reference to his hobbit, in reference to wolves it is the weakest member but that does not seem right.

The blush seems to get brighter, “I’m not just a male, I can be either father or mother.”

“How is that possible?” he inquires, the idea sounding rather foreign, no creature he knows of can be both.

“It’s a bloodline trait gifted to some of my kind by Her, when I went through puberty my body changed, I have all the working parts of a male, but also nearly all the working parts of a female.”

For some reason this seems to embarrass the hobbit though he does not understand why. There may not be anything similar in his culture but they did have those dwarrows called duel-soul or switch-soul. Dwarrows who may have been born as one gender but either identified with the other gender or are both, they were accepted the same as any other dwarf, referred to as they desire to be called. A little known fact was that Bombur was a switch-soul, born as a female but living life as a male.

“I do not understand what that has to do with why,” he remarks, waiting to see if the hobbit will actually answer him.

Sighing, the younger man inquires, “Why did you come here Thorin?”

“To bring you home,” he replies promptly, his mind not even considering the fact that the hobbit might consider his home here in the shire.

“Home?” the hobbit repeats looking at him thoughtfully, “Why would there be home and not here?”

He had the courage to come here, he might as well have the courage to be honest about why, “Because I hope you will let me court you, Bilbo Baggins, with the intentions of marriage.” It is his turn to blush as he explains, “Dwarrows only ever marry once. They will not marry without a very deep connection. Even before this entire dying and spending the better part of a year as a shade in your presence, I had hoped that perhaps you would allow me the chance to court you.”

For a long time there is silence as the hobbit considers his words, studying him seriously before a surprisingly radiant smile lights the younger man’s face.

“I’m an omega, and that means I will have only one mate, I can marry whomever I want, but my mate, my true mate only happens once. I thought I lost that. So I prayed, after all she helped with the madness, the sickness when it struck, so maybe, just maybe she could help again.” The hobbit remarks slowly, watching his face with large expressive eyes that seem a bit worried.

It takes him a minute to understand, but when he does, his own smile is almost painful in its strength. His hobbit wants to court him, wants more than just a marriage, this was not something he had ever expected, but the lesson of the journey had been never try to anticipate what is going to happen with the hobbit, he’ll surprise him at every turn.

 


	6. CH 5: Colloquy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : Bilbo discusses violence towards females of a sexual nature with Thorin, if you wish to not read it skip from where it list 'Arabel Took' down nine paragraphs to "Tomorrow I can start preparing"

_Bilbo’s POV_  
Thorin is here, really here. He is not just a shade but a living being once more. She did it. He doesn’t know how, but she has brought him back, healed him. His mate, well potential mate, they never even courted. Apparently though the dwarf wants to court him, he had never thought the dwarf would ever think of him that way despite all of his hopes. So now he has the chance to do what he hoped for, so he might as well do it right.

As they finish lunch he is already plotting how to go about this, of course he will return to the mountain with the dwarf, but he does not want to give up his home either. He will hire Hamfest to keep the house clean, send a messenger or messenger bird once a year confirming all is well so that Lobelia Sackville-Baggins cannot get it. If he does die, he wants it to go to his cousin Drogo Baggins and his wife Primula Brandybuck, they are trying to start a family after all. Perhaps they can visit when Drogo and Primula manage to have their first child.

A proper courtship for mating includes: proving his worth as a homemaker with favored meals and food, handmade items that are either useful or artistic, and provide shelter. Since they are probably going to end up moving to Erebor, providing shelter is unimportant. However that meant in his eyes he would need to be more important for him to show he can cook things his intended enjoys and make useful items for his dwarf. Though what sort of useful item he could make he is not sure, his father had made the doilies that are scattered around the house as part of his courting gifts. His grandfather had made the chair he is ever so fond of for his grandmother.

Well then, he had discovered his dwarf loves meals with a variety of meats so his courting meals will include just that. Perhaps he should do them in themes? Like have one dinner where it is types of pork or another with types of beef? Then match the side dishes to the meat choice. Actually he will do that for dinner tonight, using pork because he has bacon, ham, pork chops, and pork ribs. He bites his lip as he considers it, mentally assembling everything that will be needed.

“Bilbo?” the dwarf softly states questioningly.

Beaming at the taller man, he babbles in response, “Sorry, reviewing the customs of courting, well hobbit customs, we should probably discuss courting habits, try to avoid misunderstandings if we can.”

Nodding solemnly, those bright blue eyes watch him as he gets up and flutters around, putting dishes in the sink to clean and putting away the small remains of lunch, which is mostly the salad part.

“You’re nervous,” the dwarf states calmly, shock in his voice.

“I, yes, umm, of course. Who isn’t nervous when they consider courting?” he replies, still a bit babbly, “After all, there is always the small worry of doing the wrong thing, mis-stepping, or saying the wrong thing. Ummm or reading the situation wrong, I’m good at that.”

Smiling at him tenderly, the dwarf stands, quickly moving to stand before him, “Bilbo?”

Tilting his head slightly to look up at the taller man he answers, “Yes?”

“Stop worrying,” the dark-haired dwarf murmurs before chastely kissing him on the lips, barely a brush, but enough to shut him up.

His eyes flutter shut as he just takes in the taller man’s presence, the fact he is alive. Alive! He will definitely need to plant some more plants, maybe a tree or two, plus pull a few weeds, something to show his vast appreciation for this, and he does appreciate it. It was the impossible, even he knew that before he even asked, but he had to ask.

There is a warmth from the ground beneath his feet, a pleasure and joy. No words, just simple emotion but is says so much to him that he returns the feeling, directing his joy about the one he loves, and he will admit it now, in return.

“Bilbo?” the older man questions softly, “Everything alright?”

Smiling at the dwarf, he replies, “Everything is great, just great. She wanted me to know She’s happy for me.”

Solemnly, the dwarf nods once.

“So discussion, that would be good, yes indeed, and about courting, because I am a hobbit and you’re a dwarf and I am sure there are some differences between traditions.” He turns and heads over to the stove to put on a kettle of water for tea, “There is a couple of things for courting: providing meals shows stability, giving of gifts the other appreciates to show understanding, having a place to live for shelter, spending time together, generally chaperoned for young people, not for adults five years past their majority,” he frowns, pausing because he knows he is missing something but cannot remember what it is. Sadly, he has never considered courting so the how is not something he is familiar with. Maybe he should check with the book of traditions… “Oh! Courtships should take no less than six months.”

Again the dwarf nods solemnly while he pours them both cups of fresh tea. Heading into the living room, he settles into his arm chair, the one made by his grandfather, though really it was his alpha grandmother.

“The exchanging of flowers to specify intent,” he comments, “Almost forgot the flowers, well technically it can be any plant, with the plants meaning being used. For instance my grandfather Balbo presented his to-be wife with a pot full of rose bushes of multiple hues, drove my great-grandparents around the bend because it could have several meanings. Those roses are still planted in the garden and cared for, each year they come back a different set of colors though the last few years have been more yellows, pinks, and cream tones.” He is aware he is babbling but he cannot seem to stop himself.

“There are some similarities it sounds like,” his dwarven companion murmurs as he settles onto the other chair. “Providing food is considered important, but not necessarily a meal but the ingredients to make on, such as the gift of a pig or goat.” His elbows settle onto his knees as he leans forward slightly, “Provide gifts that display skill in our chosen field and ability to support a family. I am a blacksmith, so any gifts I made would be of metal. A courting price to the family, to show appreciation for the fact the member will be leaving the family and no longer providing for it, my grandfather apparently gave my grandmother’s family seven of the most stunning emeralds he could find for her, along with three chests of gold.” A bittersweet smile curves his friend’s lips as if remembering a time before his grandfather had gone mad. “Courtship takes between one to three years. Light physical touches are allowed, such as the brushing of fingers or the occasional hug but anything past that is frown on as disrespectful to the person being courted as a lack of self control.”

He listens carefully, noting the fact both have gift giving, a food custom, though different, and time spent together. Different durations for courtship, hobbits have provide a shelter while dwarves have make gold to pay for shelter. Still, sounds like it should be compatible, at least mostly. Of course with hobbits, both parties will give gifts and food, only the courter had to worry about the shelter idea. Some of the dishes he did not want broken were courting gifts from one parent to the other. The physical contact part could get to be a bit much, because hobbits are tactile creatures with each other, and particularly with family they are close to.

His eyes narrow as he tilts his head to the side and bites his lower lip, “Hobbits are tactile creatures with those we care about,” he mutters blushing but needing to say it.

Arching a dark brow at him the dwarf states, “Speak up, I didn’t understand what you said.”

Blushing even deeper, “I said, hobbits are tactile creatures with those we care about.”

“Oh,” he looks both thoughtful and pensive, “I am sure we can find some sort of middle ground.”

Smiling in relief, he nods happily, “That’s good, good.”

“Describe normal tactile behavior,” the dwarf requests after the two of them sit in silence for a long while, finishing their teas and thinking.

“Well,” he begins as he tries to consider some of the normal things. It’s been awhile since he has had cause to touch anyone, “Hugging, snuggling up side by side or front to back in front of a fire, handholding when in groups, little kisses like on the cheek or brow,” he pauses to think, trying to remember if there is anything else, “occasional hand on back instead of holding hands or around the shoulders.”

The dwarf nods slowly, “Occasionally, in private, perhaps we can try some of that, though I prefer not to touch often in public.”

He beams at the dwarf because even if it’s not much, he is sure that the other man will try since he said he would. He is also quite certain there will be plenty of times where he is frustrated but that’s alright too, it’s part of the process, learning to deal even when annoyed.

For a long while the two of them are quiet, each lost in their own thoughts, when he hears his clock start to chime for five pm he hops to his feet inquiring, “Fresh tea while I make dinner?”

“Dinner already?” his love queries with amusement in his tone.

“Of course! Lunch was at one, and it was a rather simple affair, but dinner's at six and it’s currently five, so cooking should be started now,” he replies energetically as he takes the dwarf’s empty cup and his own before heading into the kitchen area.

Humming, he sets to washing the dishes while the water heats for tea. Dwarves eat less meals, so he will make sure that the three primary dwarven meals of breakfast, lunch, and dinner are all good solid ones, then he will make sure there are snack foods for his other four meals. Heading to the pantry he thinks, now then, for tonight’s dinner they are having a pork based dinner with pork ribs cooked in the oven and covered in his hickory-honey sauce, salted ham reheated in the oven, bacon and thick cut pork chops on the stove, steamed vegetables, and seasoned potatoes. Honey mead and hot apple cider to drink with the meal. Dwarves like meats, so meats are what he will provide and a variety of them too.

“Bring your stuff in Thorin,” he calls out, “We’ll be here a week at least, I wish to arrange some things before we go. No running out the door without expecting to be gone this time.”

“Alright,” he hears the dwarf answer him, before the sound of footsteps echoes out his front door.

Still humming he sets to making the food after putting the tea on the table, when the taller man comes back in he turns to spot him leaning on the door watching him. “Tea,” he comments, motioning to the table, “There is a second bedroom right before mine if you wish to use it.”

“That would be best,” his dwarf murmurs before turning and leaving the room. A few minutes later the taller man returns and questions, “What did you mean without expecting to be gone?”

As he flips the pork chops, he replies, “Gandalf had showed up that morning, asked if I wanted to go on an adventure, which I said no, adventures make one late for supper. Then just as I was sitting down to said supper later that night a host of dwarves shows up, I haven’t the faintest clue why I have dwarves raiding my pantry and making a mess of everything, only that there are a bunch of them, almost more than more poor house can handle.” He pauses, smiling wistfully, “Then you showed up and it went from a houseful of rambunctious dwarves, to a houseful of serious and grim dwarves, I almost preferred the rambunctious side because it was entirely too grim. Of course then I found out why,”

“You were unaware we were coming?” there seems to be frustration in his friend's tone.

He nods once, not turning to look at him, “I was, I said no adventures, so Gandalf went and brought the adventure to me. It worked out for the best in the long run,” he shrugs with a small smile.

“Annoying, meddling wizard,” he hears the dwarf grumble, “He had said you were aware, that you agreed. The only reason I agreed to even consider a hobbit was you were supposed to have already agreed. That explains why you fainted.”

“Yes well, you try being a hobbit surrounded by a bunch of large and rowdy dwarves when your house had just been peaceful and quiet prior to that, followed by having the most intimidating one in the bunch circling you like a piece of meat and see if it does not set your nerves on edge.” He turns grinning at the dwarf in question, “Then add dragons and see what type of response you have.”

“I’m sorry,” his dwarf states, regret heavy in his tone.

He shakes his head, “Don’t be, it might have been a trial at times but I wouldn’t change it, well maybe the year of grieving, but the rest of it I wouldn’t change.”

A bark of laughter escapes the taller man as he stares at him questioningly. He seems shocked for some reason.

His nose twitches just before his little wind-up timer goes off. Turning back to the stove, he opens the bottom part and tugs the ham and ribs out, smiling at the fact they are done and setting them on the table before fetching the rest of it off the stove and out of the oven. He is surprised when he turns back around and the table is set but beams at his dwarven house guest since he knows he is the one who did it.

“Isn’t that a lot of food for two people?”

“Oh, no! This is very similar to a normal dinner, only more meat, since I remember you like meat more the vegetables, I made sure to make extra meat instead of vegetables, though there is still a respectable amount of greens.” He replies happily as he sets their drinks down and takes his seat. Smiling at his tall companion he states softly, “I’m happy you came for me.”

“I always will,” the dwarf replies.

Over dinner the two of them speak quietly of their individual year, though it is more him than Thorin. Apparently time seemed meaningless while his friend was a shade, he hadn’t even realized so much time had passed, thinking that it was a far shorter period. Towards the end of dinner though, the dwarf asks a question that has him blushing.

“A young lass showed me here so I would not have to wander, but she was wearing trousers, and all of the females I have previously seen here wore dresses. Why is that?” his dwarven companion inquires.

“Green-eyed girl, right?” he queries, “Probably a bit shorter than me, roughly my shoulder height?”

His companion nods once seriously.

“Then it was probably Arabel Took, she is a distant cousin of mine, an alpha.” He responds as he starts to clean things up, a small smile on his lips at the thought of the young Took girl.

“Alpha? Is that similar to an omega?” the dwarf asks curiously.

Blushing, he nods, “I’m able to be both father and mother. She’s able to be both mother and father. Though I think it is harder on girls, their roles in our way of life are more set than a man’s. That might be why Grandfather Mungo lived as a man rather than the alpha female she technically was.”

“She was very skittish, wouldn’t get within arm’s reach, why is that?” his friend inquires, with something in his tone more than curiosity.

“Alpha’s are taught to avoid outsiders even more than other girls. A few decades back a small group of alpha girls, most trying to determine whether they were going to live as males or females, went to Bree to pick up supplies for a new crop that was to start that year. Well their second night there, a group of men decided to show them why girls shouldn’t wear trousers in the most violent of ways. The guards caught them and stopped them, but the damage was done. Two of the girls came back pregnant because of it.” He pauses for a moment shaking his head, “After that we hobbits stopped going to Bree with any regularity. Instead the traders that buy our tobacco bring other supplies if we need them. It was already considered strange and adventurous to leave the Shire, now it’s just not done.”

He can just about feel the anger pouring off the dwarf, and knows instinctively it is not towards the girls, but what had happened to them, “What happened to the two babes?”

Shaking his head sadly, he replies, “The first was miscarried in the fifth month, nearly lost both, but the mother managed to survive. After that she lived purely as a male, ended up marrying a non-alpha girl, I believe they live over by Brandybuck.” Tilting his head he thinks about it for a minute. “The second one had her child and gave it to one of the merchants that came through, apparently, him and his wife had been trying for a little one, but were unsuccessful. He grew up as a Man, I do not know what happened to him in the long run. The girl never had a relationship, and I believe lives in High Willow now, on the furthest edge of the Shire away from Bree.”

He shakes his head one more time, before studying his now silent friend.

“A crime of that nature is punishable by death, after one of the worst beatings of the offender’s life in Dwarven culture.” His dwarf eventually states.

“That’s probably for the best. The alpha’s and omega’s closed ranks after that against outsiders, and started teaching all children to avoid them, particularly outsider males, the rest of the shire just sort of followed suit.” He shrugs, “We allow people in, because we know here we’re safe, but very few ever leave the shire and its protection. That sort of crime does not happen among our kind.”

Again the two of them fall silent for a time.

“Tomorrow I can start preparing for leaving here, I would like to come back and visit in a few years since the trip only takes two months by pony back when not trying to run for one’s life.” he remarks calmly, wanting to see what his dwarf says.

“That can be done, messenger birds will also be at your disposal as well,” the dark-haired man replies with a smile and a nod.

“Perfect! There are a few that I would like to not lose contact with. Of course, I will need to put a new lock on my door before I go.” He happily exclaims.

“Why, if you do not mind me asking?” there is curiosity in his dwarf’s tone once more.

“Because that sneaky, no-good cousin of mine, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, will try to break in otherwise and replace more of my mother’s fine silverware with junk tin.” He answers hotly. Just thinking about her angers him, particularly considering he had to buy back his own furniture because of that wench.

“I’ll look at it tomorrow, perhaps I may be able to do something with it, after all, I was a blacksmith,” there is humor to the dwarf’s tone as he says it.

Grinning, he replies, “That would be wonderful!” glancing at the clock he is surprised to see it is past supper time, and hops up, “Time for supper, are you hungry?”

“More food Bilbo?” amusement fills his friends voice.

Slightly defensively, he responds, “Hobbits eat seven meals a day, with second breakfast and dinner being the two biggest, and elevenses and tea time being the smallest.”

“No wonder you dropped so much weight when we were travelling, you went from eating close to nonstop to hardly at all.” The dwarf remarks, “You never did explain why your kind eats so much.”

“I kept rolls and easy to eat vegetables in my bag for my other meals, well some of them anyways, for as long as I could, though the second half of our journey without the ponies made things a bit difficult.” He retorts, the hint of a smile at the edge of his lips before he heads into the kitchen and gather the remains from lunch along with making a fresh pot of tea.

Thorin joins him in the dining room while he eats, sipping at the tea provided. While it is quiet for the most part, it is not an uncomfortable quiet, instead it is a peaceful one. After he is done eating, the dwarf helps him clean up, drying the dishes as he washes them, their sides pressed close together so he can feel the heat pouring off of him. It’s nice, almost exactly what he dreamed of.

“Why did you help us? I never did understand that, despite the fact you tried explaining it away as everyone should have a home.” the dwarf inquires when they are sitting back in their respective chairs before the fire place after getting a fire going.

“Well there was the belief in home. It was the right thing to do,” he smiles warmly at his friend, “Beside’s my instincts said I should, and I listened to them. Now I am happy I did, even if at times I wished I hadn’t, and grumbled about it, like when we were dealing with spiders or trolls.”

A rich, deep, warm laughter bellows from his dwarven companion, enthralling him for the duration for this is the type of laugh he had rarely heard out of the older man.

For a while later they continue to sit there and visit before he starts to get tired.

“I think I am off to bed,” he announces, standing up and stretching.

His dwarf stands as well, closing the gap between them and tilting his head down to look directly in his face, “Goodnight, Bilbo,” he murmurs before softly pressing his lips to his forehead.

Beaming at the taller man, he replies, “Sleep well Thorin, see you in the morning,” before throwing his arms around him in a quick hug and scampering off to his room to perform his nightly rituals before bed. He even puts new candles on the altar and lights them in thanks before drifting off to sleep.


	7. CH 6: Breakfast Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey, not sure when I actually wrote this, cause the last time I looked at it, it was only pieces of a chapter, not a completed chapter, then I opened it today, and it was done so hey, here it is, everyone enjoy!

_Thorin’s POV_  
As he lays on the bed in Bag End and reflects on his day, he finds he is pretty pleased by how everything turned out. His welcoming was not what he expected, but then he hadn’t realized that Bilbo thought he was a shade at first. As soon as the hobbit had realized he was not a shade he was startled by the smaller man kissing him! That he had not expected in the least bit. It was welcome though, gave him relief to know that his desires were at least partly returned. Then when he asked about courting him, well he never got a direct answer, but they discussed courting traditions of both races and agreed on a few things including a compromise about the touching policy. Surely that means that they are going to court. In that case he needs to explain the courting braids, though he had not brought any courting beads with him. Well he could always use one of his beads, but he has a feeling that the hobbits hair is slightly different texture than his meaning one of his beads might not stay in it, particularly since it is so short. Maybe he can convince him to grow it out a bit, not a lot, just enough so he can put a courting braid in it.

Tomorrow he will see about making that lock so it cannot be opened by this troublesome cousin.

When he had originally planned this, he had not considered coming back in the future, but if his hobbit wanted to return every half a decade or so, well that should be doable. Plus there was the messenger birds, they could be occasionally used for communication too, perhaps have one whose entire task is helping his little hobbit keep in touch. It is a small price to pay for his hobbit agreeing to come home without having to be talked into it.

With a smile on his face he drifts off to sleep.

In the morning he awakes to the sound of the front door opening much to his curiosity. Rolling off the bed, he pulls his shirt back on, and pads out to the door. What he sees has him chuckling, it is Bilbo giving his pony a bucket of water and some apples.

“I’ll show him to the stable later, they’ll give you some nice oats and a brush down, with a comfy place to stay besides my front yard while we’re preparing to go.” He hears the hobbit murmur to the pony. “I am very happy he is alive. That I get a chance to win him over as my mate. Seriously, who decided to match a hobbit and a dwarf? Particularly a plain hobbit like me to a dwarven king?” he strokes the pony’s nose for a few minutes, “Well maybe not completely plain, you know the Baggins family is one of the oldest in the shire, we’ve had more mayors than most of the other families, plus the Tooks, which I am related to as well since my mother was a Took, are almost always the Thains. I guess I am not as plain as I think. Hmmmm,” there is a brief pause, “Don’t tell him however I don’t like to act like I come from one of the starting families, not when I can avoid it, even before I left on the trip I did not like to mention it because then everyone expects you to act like something other than what you may be.”

Smiling, he withdraws back into the smial, heading to the small room that was his for the duration. Well that sure explained a lot about his behavior in the past. If he was raised as part of a leading family he would not have felt any problems with standing up to someone he sees as his equal, not his superior, particularly when the smaller man felt he was being silly or foolish. It also explains why he seems to be well read and more knowledgeable than the vast majority of hobbits he has previously met. Oh yes, it explains a lot.

Sniffing the air he notices that he is beginning to smell like horse and what not. Best if he gets cleaned up. After collecting up a change of clothes from his travel bag, he heads to where he remembers the cleaning room to be. He is happy to see that he was not mistaken about there being a small wash tub in the room. He carefully studies it so he knows how it works before stoppering it and pumping some water into the tub. Once it is a little over halfway full he stops pumping the water in before stripping out of his clothing and climbing in.

He is mildly surprised that the water is not as cold he was expecting, actually it is almost lukewarm. It’s rather cozy. Smiling, he starts to wash carefully but is startled by a knock at the door to the bathroom.

“If you give it five minutes the water will actually be fairly warm,” he hears his hobbit remark through the door.

Blushing even though the younger man cannot see him, he replies, “Err, alright, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, second breakfast should be ready when you’re done,” the smaller man comments before he hears him walking away.

Still blushing, he shakes his head, mentally telling himself to calm down. His little hobbit hadn’t seen him without his clothes, and even if he had, it’s not really that big of a situation, they had both seen each other bare at least once during the Quest for Erebor. Like the time they used the river to wash themselves after dealing with nasty trolls. Yeah, not helping, he was still blushing up a storm because in that instance it was not just him naked in the water, there was eight other dwarrows and the hobbit.

Several more minutes pass with him carefully scrubbing every inch of himself from the bottoms of his feet to the tips of his hair on his head. Since coming back his beard had grown slightly, though it was still fairly short by dwarrow standards. Still if it continued to grow, sometime next year he would have a respectable length beard finally, though he probably would never let it get as long as some. For too long he has had a short beard so he will not be allowing it to grow to the flowing lengths of many, but a bit longer, enough that he could place a few braids in it. Perhaps he should see if his hobbit had any views on his beard. After all by dwarrow custom his lack of full beard made him unattractive, but hobbits do not have beards so perhaps his hobbit would prefer he keep it short? He knew that many of his dwarrows would not understand but that was unimportant, what was important was his hobbit.

Once he felt that he was completely clean, he dresses comfortably, the clothes while nice are more like what he would wear for forge working. Since his hobbit does not wish to be loud about rank, he will respect that by not being showy about his.

After storing his clothing in the spare room, he joins the hobbit in the kitchen, finding him humming as he sets the food on the table.

“Perfect timing,” the smaller man announces happily before glancing at him and freezing.

For a long moment he is self conscious, believing that something is wrong.

“I don’t believe I have ever seen you looking so,” there is a long pause as if his host is trying to figure out what to say, “relaxed.” Beaming at him the smaller man continues, “You look wonderful.”

Flushing, he smiles at the younger man before sitting at the spot he motions to. Glancing at the food, he is startled to see that it is many of the things he prefers for breakfast are laid out.

“Sleep well?” Bilbo inquires as he settles into his spot after pouring both of them cups of tea.  


He nods once, as he makes his plate, “I did, thank you.”

“That’s great,” his friend remarks before taking a few bites, “Today’s plan includes seeing the old solicitor Ned Baggins to have him draw up protection papers for my home, speak with Hamfest about keeping an eye on my home, and perhaps I will send a letter to my cousins Drogo and Primula, offer them Bag End to live in as long as they leave a room for us to come visit. They want to start a family after all, and Drogo is a Baggins of closer relation than that viper who keeps trying to get my home.”

He nods, understanding that scheduling and thinking it does not seem like much, however legal matters can take a great deal of time, so it really is best to give it extra time.

“Of course, we will need to go to the Hall at some point this week,” there is hesitation in his hobbits tone, which has him arching an eyebrow questioningly.

“The Hall?” he repeats when no more information is forth coming.

Nodding slowly the smaller man eventually answers, “It’s where the alphas and omegas gather, it is also home to the oldest un-bonded of the alphas and omegas in Hobbiton.” He pauses for a moment, finishing his tea, “I got lectured for not alerting them I was leaving for a time before. They keep careful track of all children with the Blessing, the adults too, particularly those not bonded.”

Bonded? He thinks to himself? What is bonded? Perhaps it is another way of saying married? Though why called it bonded instead of married? He should ask, “Is bonded married?” he inquires with a tilt of his head.

The hobbit’s skin is flushing brightly, turning the normal golden caramel into a more orange tone as his head ducks a bit and even his slightly pointed ear change colors.

“I did not mean to upset you, please forget the question if it truly bothers you,” he quickly tries to reassure the smaller male.

Bilbo gives a shake of his head, “It’s a valid question, and one we’ll have to discuss,” there is a pause like the hobbit has to work up the nerve to keep talking, “Bonding happens between mates and only mates, during,” he swallows hard, “ummmm, intercourse,” the blush deepens, “a bond bite is formed when the mate bites into the alpha or omega’s bonding gland.” Again his hobbit blushes, his skin a very bright red now, “As an omega my bonding gland is on the back of my neck,” one slender hand lifts to touch the back of his neck, “Only after bonding would I go into heat and we could have children.”

Silence falls for a few long minutes as he takes the information in and then realizes exactly what his little hobbit means by heat. He can feel his eyes widen and several times his mouth opens and shuts as if he is going to say something though no words come out.

“Not that we have to have children!” his hobbit exclaims before getting up and nervously starting to put things away, his posture very tense and jumpy.

Blinking, he realizes his reaction caused something to go wrong. What did he do wrong? He hasn’t said anything on the subject. He was too busy processing the idea that they could have children. After all, with another dwarf male he would never have a chance for children, there was no possibility of it and so he had taken it off the table for his life when he realized he preferred men. Now that the idea that he could still have his own dwarfling or hobbitling is a possibility, well that is something he could easily get excited about. Now how to tell Bilbo that?

Standing, he moves so he is standing before his hobbit, gently questioning, “Bilbo?”

When the smaller man keeps working without answering him, he reaches out to carefully take hold of the hobbits shoulders, turning him towards him. “Bilbo, I’ve never thought I would have a One, a mate, a spouse, particularly since I have always preferred looking at other males to females. So the idea that we could have dwarflings or hobbitlings is completely remarkable. It is a gift Bilbo. Particularly since you are even willing since I cannot imagine it is easy going through pregnancy as a male. I will be thanking your Earth Mother every day of my life for the fact I am alive and the gift of you.”

For a several long minutes his hobbit stares at him before muttering, “Fauntlings.”

“What?” he is confused, what’s a fauntling? Does it have to do with the Blessed as he called alphas and omegas?

“Children and baby hobbits are called fauntlings,” the smaller male replies quietly.

He nods, understanding, “Fauntlings,” he repeats, “I understand. If we have fauntlings or dwarflings or if we don’t, all that matters is that you are happy.”

His hobbit stares at him, seeming to be in shock, so he tugs the smaller man closer, just hugging him for a time. They can get on with business in a little bit, this is important first.


	8. CH 7: Preparations (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks, sorry this has taken so long to update, the muses just have not been working with me on this story. However, here it is!
> 
> Tumblr about my stories: [JaimiStoryTeller](http://jaimistoryteller.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you for any form of communication, I love it and it keeps me writing!

Thorin’s POV  
Several long moments pass as they stand there holding each other close. His hobbit’s head is resting against his chest, listening to his heart beat.

Bilbo is the first to let go and step back before tilting his head to the side thoughtfully. “We should go see Cousin Ned,” the younger man suggests softly, “and drop your mounts off on the way there.”

He nods once, smiling at his friend.

Nodding one more time, the smaller man turns on his heel and proceeds to clean up the leftovers and dishes from their breakfast. He joins in, helping with the dishes so that they can be quickly put away. Once everything is cleaned up, he heads into the entryway to tug his boots on so they can leave the house. Normally he would wear his boots all the time, but he had noticed that the hobbit was barefoot, and had decided to be barefoot in the house as well.

“Ready?” his love queries as he joins him in the entry.

“Yes,” he replies.

The two of them leave the hobbit hole, collecting up the two ponies and leaving the yard. In peaceful companionship they walk down the circular road towards the edge of Hobbiton. Several times they are greeted by various hobbits along the way. When they are near the edge of town, they reach the inn and stables where his hobbit quietly slips into the stable barn before emerging with two other hobbits.

“This is Jade and Peridot Took,” Bilbo informs him, motioning between the pair as he continues to speak, “Jade is gifted with land animals, Peridot with birds. Jade, Peridot, this is Thorin Oakenshield.”

The one that had been called Peridot studies him for a long moment before nodding and mumbling, “Hello.”

Beside him, Jade beams and happily greets him, “It’s nice to meet you Thorin!” Turning to his ponies, she croons, “Look at these lovely ladies. They’ve been well cared for.” Glancing at Bilbo she queries, “How long will I have them?”

“Until the end of the week at least,” his hobbit replies quietly.

Nodding, she gently strokes the first ponies nose, “We’ll take good care of them,” she promises, taking the reins and leading them into the stables.

Peridot follows closely behind her, shooting worried looks around as he does so.

Frowning, he considers everything that just happened and queries, “Is there a reason Peridot seemed so sullen?”

“Jade has decided to live as a female. It bothers him. Since they are twins he will be presenting soon too. Since she developed as an omega, he will as well, there has never been a case of only one twin presenting. The fact that both have special talents and gifts was an early indicator.” His hobbit answers as he stares after the pair, glancing at him, he continues, “Peridot does not want to be an omega.”

Among the dwarrow gender roles do not exist. Females, also called bearers, could live as males. No one treated them any differently. There are those called switch-souls who were born as one physical gender, but were emotionally and spiritually the other gender. There are also those called twin-souled, those who are both at the same time. It was extremely common for twin-souled individuals to be teachers, historians, law or lore keepers. They had learn in the early years of communication between dwarrow and the other races that females and bears were not treated the same, though no race treated females or bearers as poorly as the races of Men.

“He would be welcome among the dwarrow. We do not consider gender in the same manner as hobbits, Men, or elves.” He is proud of himself for the fact he does not sneer the word ‘elves’. He is well aware that Bilbo likes elves and that he will probably need to rebuild the treaty with the Green Wood and their worthless king. “Each person can choose their own gender if they wish to identify it. Bearers are cared for during their pregnancies but otherwise treated like every other dwarf. We do not tell Men which of us are bearers because of the stigma their race seems to have towards them.”

A thoughtful look crosses his hobbits face before he nods, motioning to the road without commenting.

They continue their trip in the same sort of peaceful silence as the first part of the walk. When they get to a small hobbit hole with a bright blue door, his hobbit knocks at it lightly and waits.

The door slowly opens to reveal an older hobbit with silver hair and massive glasses, a curious look on his weathered face, “Bilbo?”

“Ned Baggins,” his hobbit replies with a smirk.

“Bilbo! Come in, come in!” The old hobbit exclaims as he shoves the door wide open and motions hem in, querying, “Who’s your companion? He’s a bit tall to be a hobbit, is this one of the dwarves you traveled with?”

Tilting his head down a bit and shaking it, Bilbo responds, “Ned, this is Thorin Oakenshield, Thorin, this is Ned Baggins.”

Pausing, the older hobbit studies him closely through those thick lenses, a frown wrinkling his features, “Thorin? The dwarf you thought returned to their creator?”

A single nod is all his hobbit does in response.

“Then this is a blessed day!” Closing the door, he queries, “What can I do for you Bilbo?”

“I need you to draw up some papers for me. You see, I will be going to Erebor, the dwarven city, and I wish to protect my home from that annoying cousin of ours so there is not a repeat of last time.” Bilbo answers smoothly, frustration filling his town, “I also plan to offer Bag End to cousin Drogo and his wife Primula while I am gone, with the stipulation they keep one bedroom open for my visits.”

Silence fills the air while the older hobbit collects a few things from various spots before heading to a desk and settling in it, one hand motioning towards the seat in front of him, “I can do that easily, very easily. Now Bilbo, let’s begin.”

While the elder hobbit writes various things down and makes notes, the pair of them discuss everything from the trip to why he is going to the weather and gardening. When a second hobbit comes in, she clucks her tongue at them, fondly smiling as she shakes her head.

“I’m Rosabel Baggins, Ned’s wife,” she introduces herself with a smile and a nod.

Standing, he bows slightly, “Thorin Oakenshield, at your service,” he replies.

“Oh my,” she mumbles, blinking a few times, “What a pretty one Bilbo. It’s nice to meet you Thorin. Is he the one you ran off with without proper preparation the last time there were dwarves in town?”

“Yes, Rosabel,” Ned distractedly answers before asking something else about the house.

Sighing, she glances about and mutters, “You forgot to offer drinks again dear, that’s not very polite of you,” before bustling off to another part of the hobbit hole.

She returns a few moments later with a steaming pot and four porcelain cups, three small and dainty, one large.

“How do you take your tea dear?” she inquires as she looks at him, pot hovering just above the largest mug.

He blinks, not sure what she means, tea is not something he normally drinks a lot of, preferring coffee or fresh water.

“Hot, two spoons of sugar, and a small piece of mint,” Bilbo answers her, “for both of us.”

“Thank you Bilbo,” she remarks, “Will that work for you?”

“Yes, thank you,” he replies, accepting the mug once she has finished making.

“Thank you,” he tells her before taking a sip and enjoying the taste. It’s as good as the teas Bilbo makes.

She nods, making teas for the other two and passing them out before taking her own and settling into a chair.

Several minutes pass in moderate quiet as the two hobbits continue working on the paperwork.

Eventually Rosabel queries, “Will you be visiting occasionally or plan to steal our Bilbo to your mountain forever?”

“We will be visiting occasionally,” he answers.

Setting her cup aside and pouring herself another tea, she asks, “That is good. Will hobbits be welcome in your mountain?”

“Always, it is a three month trip in the summer, we will be keeping a city in the Misty Mountains, traders will be traveling between the two, so any who wish to travel with them would be welcome.” He responds without having to stop to think about it, it is a topic he has considered before he even got here. After all, what if his hobbit wants family or friends to visit? Hobbits would have to be welcome.

She beams at him, “Would you like some more tea or a biscuit? They will be talking for a bit longer I am sure.”

“Please,” he nods, “that would be appreciated.”

Still beaming, she stands and leaves the room again, returning a few moments later with a fresh pot of tea and a plate full of biscuits.

They sit there and eat the biscuits while drinking tea, conversing about his home in Erebor. The other two mutter thanks for the tea and biscuits as they accept them with barely a break in the conversation. It is near supper time when they finally get the papers set.

“You can pick up your copy in two days,” Ned finally announces, “Would you like to stay for supper?”

“No thank you, we’re headed to the Hall.” his hobbit replies to the invitation as he stands.

Mischief fills her eyes as she nods, “That’s probably good, they were up in arms the last time you left since you didn’t warn anybody before leaving.”

“I heard about it for weeks after I returned,” Bilbo grumbles.

“Well you better stop by one last time before you leave Bilbo Baggins, or I will send the twins after you with as much sugar as I possibly can find.” Rosabel informs the younger hobbit, giving Bilbo a tight hug before turning to him and surprising him with a hug as well.

“Yes Rosabel,” his love replies, a low chuckle escaping his lips.

Once they are outside and down the road, he queries, “The twins?”

“Rosabel and Ned have seven children, three sets of twins and one single, two sets of twins are alpha-omega. The youngest set of twins is simply referred to as the twins, even though there are more twins than them because of the fact they are male-female who often play each other to the point where unless they tell you who’s who, it’s hard to tell. They are tricksters. Actually Kíli and Fíli remind me of them sometimes.”  Bilbo explains as they keep walking, “They even selected names that are similar.”

He doesn’t respond because they have stopped in front of the first hill house that seems to be bigger than its hill, spanning outwards into other hills.

“Welcome to the Hall,” Bilbo states as he opens the front fence.

He nods, carefully studying the wooden and stone structure, admiring the architecture that is not like any that he has seen elsewhere. It seems to have elements of known types, but it is still different. The design reminds him of a combination of dwarrow and elven styles though it is still different. There are arches of stone and wood, plants binding them together in growth and design. The gate and wall surrounding it is made of plants and stones intertwined with a lovely wooden gate. As they go inside the gate, he sees various benches scattered around, each within its own little set up and style, including one that is surround by nothing but stone, no plants within five feet of it. At the front door, his hobbit, pushes it open, holding it for him before stepping in.

The inside is a lot like Bilbo’s home with the wooden floors, circular windows, and a big stone fireplace. The colors are lighter, brighter, warmer. There are benches, chairs, and divans everywhere. Hobbits of every size, color and shape bustle about energetically or lazily strolling. Some are alone, some are with others. He even spots the young lady that he had asked for assistance of the previous day.

“Coral, Is Elder Chrysa available?” his hobbit inquires of a rather round hobbit seated near the door.

Nodding, Coral responds, “She’s in the library with Elder Rowan and Elder Fern.”

"Closed meeting or just visiting?” He queries, holding still and looking at the other hobbit.

“I think that they are working on the records, go on in.” The hobbit tells him, motioning towards a massive oak door with runes carved into the surface in a distinctive spiral pattern.

Not thinking about it, he wanders over to study it. It’s a story, he thinks, not in any language he knows, but then, he doesn’t even remember their ancient language because of everything that had happened when he was young. One of his goals is to relearn it, so he never has to turn to an elf again, though he might have to learn it from an elf. How frustrating.

“It’s our creation, hobbits and the Blessed,” he hears a very soft voice inform him.

Glancing down, he spots a wavy dark-haired hobbit with large gray eyes, “Every Blessed one learns it upon presenting.”

“It is beautiful to see,” he tells the hobbit.

“It is, they’re waiting for you, just go through the door and to the left, you cannot miss them,” the small hobbit tells him in a wispy voice before drifting away.

He stares after the small one, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“That’s Rue, zie is probably going to replace Elder Rowan when zie is done zir training.” His love tells him, coming to stand beside him, “There are always three elders, an alpha, an omega, and one who is both.”

He nods, turning to look at the door once more.

“Come on,” Bilbo comments as he pushes the door open, stepping in confidently and walking across the room towards a side room.

Glancing about, he realizes that this library is probably half the size of the Erebor library, an amazing feat considering exactly how big that room is. The same sort of runes that decorate the door to the library decorate the ends of the bookshelves, making him think it is the tagging system.

At the second door, his hobbit knocks twice before pushing it open and going in.

“Bilbo, it is good to see you. This is your potential mate, the dwarf Thorin, yes?” a very feminine voice greets them.

“Hello Elder,” his hobbit greets the person speaking, before motioning towards him, “Thorin Oakenshield, this is Elder Chrysa, senior omega, Elder Fern, senior alpha, and Elder Rowan.” As he speaks he motions to each elder in turn, allowing him to commit their faces and names together in his memory.

Bowing politely, he offers, “At your service.”

“Sit down Bilbo, Thorin,” Elder Chrysa directs, “What do you need?”

“Ned is drawing up a collection of legal papers for me. I will be returning to Erebor with Thorin. It’s our plan to visit every few years, and I plan to ask cousin Drogo and his wife Primula to take care of Bag End while we are gone, even planning on offering it to them to live there so that the harridan cannot get her grubby paws on it or my family’s things.” Bilbo replies, serious for the first part but grumbling the end.

All three of the elders smile, their attention completely on the younger hobbit.

“You’ve always had problems with that particular hobbit,” Elder Fern remarks.

“Everyone has problems with that particular hobbit,” Elder Rowan chimes in, “She enjoys causing strife.” Gray eyes narrow as the elder continues, “There was a time I was worried you were going to become like her, you were on your way to it.”

“Gandalf did say he was disappointed in some of the changes to me before enlisting me in an adventure I didn’t plan for,” his hobbit comments.

“Yes well, that is what he does, causes chaos and mischief, but also reminds people to live, and that change is good. Many think he disturbs the peace too much, I think he needs to do it more.” Elder Rowan states before sipping at a tea. “Would you like some?”

“No thank you,” he replies, thinking that hobbits drink too much tea.

“No,” Bilbo answers, “thank you.” Turning his attention back to the subject at hand, he continues, “It will most likely be a permanent move.”

Tilting zir head to the side, Elder Rowan queries, “Will you not be lonely for others of our kind among the dwarrow?”

Before his potential husband has a chance to answer, he cuts in, “Hobbits will always be welcome in Erebor, particularly those your kind consider Blessed. We do not consider gender the way Men and Elves do.”

All three elders turn their attention to him, studying him carefully before sharing a very speaking look among themselves, making him wonder if they have a form of thought speech that some are said to possess.

“We will let those who may feel uncomfortable among our kind know,” Elder Rowan states, something shimmering in zir eyes. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, Elders,” his hobbit responds politely.

“Then we shall bid you good evening unless you care to join us in the hall for a meal?” Elder Fern queries with a tilt of her head to the left.

“Would you like to eat here?” his love inquires, “Many of the cousins I get along with will be present.”

He smiles, nodding, “That would be nice.” Getting to know the family that Bilbo gets along with is important to him since family is a very important factor in both cultures.

“We’ll be eating in the hall.” Bilbo tells the elders, “If you’ll excuse us, I want to show him around the rest of the Hall.”

He can hear the difference between the two halls.

They stand, exiting the library and wandering around the Hall. His hobbit tells him all about the various rooms and programs that are held. It is a pleasant walk until they get to a large room that Bilbo tells him is the heart of the Hall, the hall. Inside is a massive cafeteria like room, with buffets being set up in various spots, and tables scattered everywhere. Hobbits of all sizes and colors seem to fill the room.

“Shall we get dinner?” there is amusement in his love’s voice, and he realizes that none of the buffets seem to be the exact same.

“Yes,” he replies, smiling back, it’s going to be an interesting dinner he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New updating schedule: Saturday, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Up to two different story updates, no story will be updated twice a week


	9. CH 8: The Hall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves* hi my lovely readers, long time no see, thank you to everyone who is still around, hello to all the new people. I can happily report that I have 2 more chapters ready so there will be a chapter at least once a month for the next few months, though I should hopefully get some more ready sooner than later. As always, reviews are really appreciated and give me inspiration

Thorin’s POV  


When Bilbo had said that alphas and omegas were not common, he had expected thirty to forty of them perhaps. Instead, he can see more than one-hundred of them of all ages and sizes. Some bear striking resemblance to each other, others look vastly different. It takes him a few minutes of just standing and absorbing it all before he is ready to actually move. 

“All alpha and omegas are welcome to dine here, whether they are bonded or not, as are their families. It’s considered a bonding experience for families to eat together, particularly branches that might not get a chance to do so often.” His hobbit lightly comments nodding in return to a few who nodded their way, or waving when they were waved at. 

They slowly make their way through the throng of people, picking on of the less used buffets to get their food from. He watches as Bilbo grabs a tray, placing his plate, silverware and glass on it from the end of the buffet before carefully moving along the line, using the utensils in each dish to take helpings. With a nod, he does the same, taking his time to make his choices, not sure if there is a limit to how many times he can come up here. He will have to ask once they have sat down. 

All around them hobbits are eat, laughing, and visiting with each other. Despite that, it still seems quieter than a gathering of the company. 

“Let’s sit there,” his hobbit suggests, motioning to a table that is mostly empty. 

“That’s fine,” he agrees, nodding once and following his potential husband over to the table in question. 

When they get close he realizes that it has benches instead of seats, and smiles, because he had wondered how he was going to fit himself into one of those smaller chairs comfortably for an entire meal. Particularly when he is quite sure that he will be getting grilled by family members soon enough. 

“Is there a limit on times to the buffet?” he asks as they sit down. 

“Nope, it’s eat until full or the foods all gone.” Bilbo replies with a shake of his head and a smile, “You’d think with this hoard there would be a lot of times the food run outs, but it is not uncommon for left overs to be taken to elderly members of the community.” 

He smiles, nodding, when Erebor was at the height of power they used to provide lunch for all dwarves, left overs would be sent to families with children or elders. It is something he plans to do again if Dáin has not already started. 

They are roughly half way through their first helping when a pair of elderly hobbits settle beside him on the bench, one on either side. 

“Hello Bilbo, dear, who’s your companion?” The one on his left inquires with a tilt of zir chin in his direction. 

“Yes, dear, who are you?” The one on his right directly asks him. 

“Thorin Oakenshield, my aunts, Tillie and Melinda Took. Don’t let their age fool you, they are just as spry and intelligent now as when they were fauntlings.” His love introduces him, “They’ve been bonded with children nearly since reaching adulthood, and now have grandchildren and great grandchildren.” 

“That is quite honorable,” he states softly, “Children are a blessing.” 

Both women nod their heads in agreement. 

“That they are,” Melinda says softly, a wistful smile curving her lips. 

Almost as soon as the moment ends, the questioning begins. What sort of job does he do? Does he have a stable home or is he a wandering dwarf? Does he have family? Is he close to his family? What sort of education does he have? Does he know many languages? Does he have the resources to provide for fauntlings? Does his home have heating and plumbing since it is within a mountain? What does he expect of the relationship? Does he have faith? To whom does he have faith? On and on the questions are asked and not only by the aunts. Other relatives stop in to add a few themselves before moving on. 

Bilbo just sits back and enjoys the way his family is converging on him. Twice he tries to excuse himself to get more food, only for some younger hobbits to suddenly appear with new plates for him. His love just chuckles. 

By the time the meal is done and all the aunts, uncles, unnts, cousins, and every other relation has finished with him, he feels mildly overwhelmed. 

“You were related to all of them?” he asks as they finally leave to head back home. 

Home, he realizes, not Bag End. It’s home because that’s where his Bilbo lives. Wherever his hobbit is, is home. That must be what his parents meant by knowing who his one is. 

“Yes, mostly directly and not through marriage, though a few were married and bond related only.” Bilbo replies with a nod. “Almost all the oldest families are related to each other by blood within four generations. So we are careful to marry outside of that, to not weaken the line. A lot of us try to pick mates who have alphas or omegas in their family trees, that way the gene is there and can be carried on further. There are less now than there were in past generations, but Elder Rowan has foreseen another influx of the Blessed in the next generation of children.” 

As they follow the winding path, he realizes the entire community is laid out like a spiral that begins with the Hall, and makes ever widening rings outwards. 

“Is your city laid out like a spiral?” he asks, curiously. 

“Yes, close to all old hobbit communities are, with the communities Hall being dead middle. The heart of the spiral for the heart of the community.” His love responds, “Few realize it. It is part of our symbol, you might have noticed the tree and spirals on items at the Hall and around my smial.” 

He takes a few minutes to think about it before nodding once. 

“I had, now that you mention it,” he agrees, “A lot of them are subtle, like the fact your doors are mostly round as are windows and the designs.” 

“Designed to channel all life energies along the spiral, to allow the positive growth to each person,” Bilbo explains with a smile. 

“That’s good,” he remarks, thinking it’s something he should consider doing with the mountain. Perhaps he should take notes, the Hall seems to be a place of learning as much as a place of meeting, maybe if he asked someone would be willing to assist him. One thing’s for sure, it’s part of the emotional backbone of the hobbit community.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Publishing schedule, I will update one or two stories on Saturday, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.
> 
> My tumblr with information on stories and myself [JaimiStoryTeller](http://jaimistoryteller.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I love reviews, comments, and any other sort of communication, feel free to stop in to say hi


	10. CH 9: Preparations (Part II)

Bilbo’s POV  
By the time they get back to his home, he feels a bit tired so he decides to wait until morning to write his cousins. He’ll have to see if anyone is heading over that way, or maybe pay Lilybalm to take it over. Actually, that is a great idea, because she can wait for a response. Plus he doesn’t have to worry about her, because she has the wolves and dire wolves to protect her.

They spend the rest of the evening together in front of the fireplace, just enjoying each other’s company. Sometime’s they talk, other times they sit in silence. By the time both are ready to call it a night, he has roughly planned out what he wants to write in his head, along with deciding what he would like to have brought to Erebor.

In the morning, he is the first one awake once more. Stretching, he considers what to wear and decides on something simple for the day, he mostly will not be leaving the smial. Once dressed, he heads out to the kitchen where he makes some scones for first breakfast, and starts on a more filling meal of fluffy cheese, ham, and fresh vegetables omelets, orange juice, bacon, and hashbrowns. Since he noticed that his dwarven love prefers coffee to tea, he puts a pot on to percolate.

He is just about done when Thorin emerges from the spare bedroom and comes to the kitchen and dining room.

“How long have you been up?” the dwarrow inquires as he accepts the coffee handed to him.

“Just over an hour, first breakfast was blueberry scones. There are some left, I thought we could have then with tea this afternoon.” he replies as he places the first omelet on the plate for Thorin, followed by helpings of each side dish before handing it to the dwarrow staring at it in shock. “Do you not like omelets?” he asks, concerned he has made an error in what to make.

Giving a small shake of his head, his love answers, “I like omelets, I’m just trying to understand how you’re not rounder, or any of the other hobbits.”

Smiling, he remembers the comment from the day before regarding how much weight Bilbo had lost while on the journey and the shock over the amount of meals he’s used to, verse dwarrow diets.

“I can make you less if you prefer?” he offers.

Chuckling, Thorin sits down at the table, giving another shake of his head, “No, it’s good to have stable meals while we can. Once on the road it will be harder.”

“Too right, I have already started planning how to make sure we have enough to eat as we travel,” he remarks with a nod, “Would it bother you if I decided to take a cart on the trip to Erebor? I wish to bring a few things with me, mostly related to food and cooking.”

“It might take a few days longer to reach Erebor, but that should not be a problem.” Thorin responds, before cocking his head to the side thoughtfully and commenting, “I do not know that the pony’s I brought have ever had a cart attached to them.”

Grinning, he states, “That’s alright, I was thinking of getting one of the shire pony’s for that purpose, they are trained to go over a variety of terrain with their carts without panicking, because some areas of the shire are left natural except for the small paths between them.”

“That might be best,” the dwarrow agrees.

“I’m going to go write a letter to my cousin, you’re welcome to look around, relax, or read.” He comments, motioning to the smial around them.

“I was thinking I could use the forge if the blacksmith doesn’t mind, in order to make you new locks,” Thorin replies, arching a questioning eyebrow.

Smiling, he nods, “That’s a wonderful idea, however we do not have a blacksmith, so it has been closed since last fall when the last traveling one was through. All the materials you may need should be in it, I can walk you to it or have one fauntlings do so.”

“A fauntling will be fine,” his possible mate answers, “Let me get into something a bit more suitable for forge work, then I will be ready to go.”

He watches the dwarrow leaving the room, wondering what he is going to change into. Shaking himself out of his musings, he heads to the front door, stepping out it and glancing about. Sure enough, there are several fauntlings playing in the gathering field.

“Iris, Cocoana, a moment of your time,” he calls out to the oldest two.

All of the fauntlings come tumbling over, not only the two he called for. That’s not overly surprising, the youngsters tend to stay in pairs or groups of three.

“Hello Mr. Baggins,” “Hi Mr. Bilbo,” “Morning to you Mr. Bilbo,” they chorus together, voices competing with each other, and all together annoying.

“Morning,” he replies, “Iris, could you show Mr. Oakenshield to the forge? He has some work to do before we leave town.” He asks the first question of the fauntlings.

“Of course, Mr. Baggins!” She replies excitedly, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“What about me Mr. Bilbo?” Cocoana asks, eyes wide as she peers up at him.

“I need to speak with Lilybalm, could you ask her to stop by Bag End as soon as she has some free time?” He requests seriously.

She just about jumps up and down, waving her hands close together in front of her in excitement, “Oh yes! I can definitely do that Mr. Bilbo! Come on Scarlette, Lettie!”

He has barely finished asking when the group breaks apart, three of them heading down the road towards Lilybalm’s home, two of them staying with him to wait for Thorin, and the rest returning to the field to play.

He is just about considering stepping into the smial to see how much longer it will be when his door opens and his dwarrow steps out. Thorin hasn’t changed so much as added a thick leather vest and heavy gloves to his outfit.

“Thorin Oakenshield, these are Iris and Idris, they’ll show you to the forge,” he introduces his dwarrow to the two young hobbits.

“Hello Mr. Oakenshield!” the girls chorus happily.

“I’ll bring you lunch,” he tells his love with a smile, “If, for some reason I can’t, I’ll make sure someone does.”

Thorin nods, lightly brushing their fingers together before commenting, “At your service ladies.”

The two girls giggle, and start off down the road, babbling excitedly at the first dwarrow they were allowed to speak with.

“They’re very excited,” his neighbor remarks by the shared fence between their yards.

Turning to the slightly taller hobbit, he smiles warmly at the gardener. “A Hamfast! Pleasant morning to you. Just the hobbit I still needed to speak with,” he greets his neighbor. “Would you care for a scone and some tea? I have a proposition for you.”

Curiosity shines in the taller hobbit’s eyes as he walks around the fence to come up to the house with him.

Inside, they sit down at the kitchen table, a fresh pot of tea between them and warm scones with little plates before them.

“I will be moving to Erebor, possibly permanently, however I do not want Lobelia to get my home, so I am inviting Drogo and Primula to live here. Would you mind keeping up with he garden and making sure that sneaky, no-good cousin of mine stays out? I have already drawn up papers with Ned to make sure she legally cannot try to claim it, and to make sure you get paid for any work you do.” He explains politely, taking a sip of his tea and waiting for an answer.

Smiling at him warmly, Hamfast nods in agreement, “I can do that for you Mr. Bilbo, yes I can.”

“Thank you!” He exclaims, happy that he will not need to wait for his cousins before leaving, though he will wait for their answer. He has a few other cousins, mostly Tooks, that he will offer Bag End to before he would ever consider Lobelia.

The spend a bit of time visit with each other, discussing the gardens and how they are each doing so far this season. They work out how much he will pay the other hobbit for his time, it is nearly elevenses when Hamfast bids him good day to return to his home.

He is considering getting cleaned up and dressed in better clothing to take Thorin lunch when he hears persistent knocking at front door. Unfortunately, he is far too familiar with the person who is knocking so rudely. His annoying and sneaky cousin has come for a visit. Why is she here? She’s not invited over.

Sighing, and standing up to go answer the door because he is a polite hobbit, he takes a deep breath before opening it, smiling tightly at his cousin, “Morning Lobelia.”

“Bilbo,” she responds curtly.

Great, he thinks, it’s going to be one of those types of visits.

“Did you need something?” he inquires just as curtly, still smiling tightly.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in Bilbo?” she demands, shoving a foot past his doorway rudely.

His smile tightens further as he steps back and lifts his head a bit straighter, “I was actually getting ready to leave,” he responds smoothly.

“Looking like that? I doubt it.” She mutters, angrily walking deeper into his home and settling on his favorite chair as if it is her right. “Aren’t you going to offer tea? I swear, since you got back you have been absolutely a savage.”

“I don’t think you have much room to speak, Lobelia, you have been voted the rudest hobbit in Hobbiton for the last five years running,” he replies before walking into his kitchen to get the fresh pot of tea he had been seeping on the stove and his day old scones.Returning to the living room, his eyes quickly check to make sure nothing has changed or moved, before he settles the tray with the supplies on the table between the chairs. “Why are you here?” he asks directly, not bothering to pour her tea.

Several minutes pass in silence while he waits for the big mouth thief to state her purpose bothering him on this otherwise lovely day.

“I heard that you were leaving with another dwarf,” she almost spits the word dwarf, “and wished to offer my services looking after Bag End, to make sure your things are all here for you when you get home.”

“That won’t be necessary Lobelia, I have already written to cousin Drogo, to invite him to live here, and Hamfast will keep an eye on it before they move in.” He gleefully informs her, enjoying the pinched look of annoyance that flashes across her face, “If that’s all,” he motions towards the door, “I have errands I need to be running.”

She stays stubbornly seated, sipping her tea as slowly as possible, to the point where he is quite sure it is cold. Finally she remarks, “We’ve been cousins for years, I thought we were friends, Bilbo, that our bickering was only for pleasure.”

“You are a cousin by marriage, Lobelia, Drogo is my cousin by blood. If Bag End is to go to anyone it will be someone of my choosing, and I chose Drogo.” He responds, not caring about the offended look she gives him.

“Why I never!” she exclaims angrily.

It looks as if she is gearing up to continue when the doorbell is pulled only once.

“If you’ll excuse me, it appears I have company,” he remarks, motioning her towards his door again, and not moving until she stands to leave. He watches her carefully, noticing her attempting to place his silver spoon in her skirt pocket, “My spoon Lobelia,” he comments tightly, “Now, or I report you for theft to sheriff.”

“How dare you!” she nearly froths as she pulls the spoon out of her pocket and places it on the table, “It must have slipped! I am a respectable hobbit, not a thief!”

“Then act like it,” he suggests snidely, escorting her to the door.

Thankfully she goes without further comment and he finds Lulybalm Took with two of her wolves standing at his entrance. He enjoys the way Lobelia inches away from them, keeping her motions as slow and exaggerated as possible before fleeing as if the hounds of hell are chasing her.

“I’m happy I am not related to that one,” Lilybalm mutters. A bit louder, and with a smile in his direction, she says, “Hello Uncle Bilbo, what can I do for you?”

“Please come in,” he replies with a genuine smile, “I have a small favor to ask.”

“Of course,” she responds with a nod, “Do you mind if my boys come in with me?”

“They may, just keep them off the furniture,” he agrees with a nod.

“Always, uncle,” she comments, snapping her fingers and point to the ground by her side before stepping into the smial.

While she gets comfortable in the living room, he fetches fresh tea, small sandwiches because there is only half an hour before lunch, he probably isn’t going to make to see Thorin like he wanted. Curse that annoying hobbit.

Returning to the living room with a tray, he sets it between them, politely pouring her tea and passing it to her.

“I will be moving to Erebor,” he begins, “and wish to invite cousin Drogo and his wife Primula to live here.”

“You need me to run the message and see if they accept.” She comments with a smile, taking a sip of the tea.

Finishing the bite of the sandwich he is chewing on carefully, he nods in agreement, “Yes, exactly that.”

“I’ll do it,” She agrees, “All I have to do is stop by home to get the rest of my babies.”

The rest of her babies is the rest of the wolf pack, consisting of three females, two pups, and a dire wolf she often is seen riding. Had she wanted to, Lilybalm could have become one of the elders at the Hall, but she chose a more ranger like life style, being one of the few hobbits trained in self defense and weaponry.

“Thank you, I will make sure a pig is readied for when you return at the butcher.” He comments with a relieved smile. The message will get to his cousin, and he will get an honest answer about what he said. Of course, some of the hobbits who have forgotten the wolf rider will be in for a bit of a shock, but that is not his problem.

She nods, and the two of them spend a while visiting with each other. He learns that her last litter of wolves has joined the patrol pack that makes sure the borders are safe from wild wolves, bandits, and other troublesome types. A group of rangers has asked if she could train some wolves or dogs to work with them, hunting and dealing with goblins and orcs. She has agreed, but insisted it must be dire wolves or worgs, and they have to provide the pups since she doesn’t have a breeding pair of dires.

It’s a pleasant time, far better than his visit with Lobelia.

He flushes as he remembers he was going to take Thorin lunch, and had gotten completely sidetracked because of the annoyances visit. Well his dwarrow doesn’t eat as much, so he can get cleaned up and walk down their to see how he is doing. Perhaps someone else has brought him lunch, as that is a common thing when a blacksmith is in attendance.

“I’ll be off,” the younger woman states, nodding and standing, “Would you like a hand cleaning up?” She offers, motioning to the dishes their lunch was on.

“Oh no,” he answers with a small shake of his head, “I can easily handle this. Let me get you the letter,” he remarks, rising and heading to his study where he grabs the envelope and letter he had written up and sealed earlier. Returning to the living room, he passes it to her, thanking her one last time.

She nods, bids him farewell and leaves with her wolves close on her heels.

Closing the door, he sighs, turning to head to the bathroom to get a bath and get cleaned up. First off, light the broiler so the water will be warm. He can gather what he wants to wear while it heats. No reason he cannot look nice as he goes to check on his possible mate, and see if he needs lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've updated my publishing schedule, I will still update one or two stories on Saturday, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. The stories that will be updated depend on the day:  
>  **Saturday:** Gift for John, Choices, Right Decision, Clandesitne, Changes, Powers That Be  
>  **Monday:** Patron, Lost and Found, Baker Street Polyamory, Kingsman Academy, Oral Fixation, Daughter  
>  **Wednesday:** Seeking, Trial  & Error, Healing, Distraction, Learning to Live, Fae Born  
>  **Friday:** Stillness in Silence, Recruited, Changes Continue, Unexplained, Unusual Relationship, Blessed
> 
> Tumblr about my stories and myself [JaimiStoryTeller](http://jaimistoryteller.tumblr.com/money)
> 
> I love reviews, comments, and any other sort of communication, feel free to stop in to say hi


	11. CH 10: Preparations (Part III)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves* hi and happy whichever winter holiday you celebrate, enjoy a chapter as sort of a gift.

Thorin’s POV  
He enjoys listening to the two fauntlings as they chatter at him, sometimes randomly speaking, other times asking questions. He answers as best as he can, startled when he realizes that both of these girls seem to have a better education than some of the hobbits he has come across previously.

“We’re Tooks,” Idris remarks when he comments on their curiosity, “Of all the old families, those who are Tooks are most likely to have learned or studied more than any other group, even if it’s not always formal learning. A lot of families only bother teaching their children enough to read recipes and preserve things, but few actively encourage curiosity or imagination.”

“Though we are also Brambles.” Iris comments, “They’re a lot like the Gamgee family, talented with plants and growing things. So a lot of our education is around that too.”

“So education is based on family?” he inquires.

“Mostly, unless a child presents at puberty, then they are educated by the Hall, neither of us presented. Though our older brother did, and we study with him sometimes.” Idris replies with a nod, as if it explained it.

“Here we are,” Iris exclaims, motioning to a free-standing building made of bricks. “There’s rules of use on the inside of the door, incase you were wondering.”

“Thank you,” he tells the pair who nod and leave, chattering at each other about whether the others will still be in the field or not.

The next several minutes are spent acquainting himself with the layout of the forge, where everything is at, and reading the rules, which are mostly common courtesy such as leave the forge clean, write down what materials were used and how much, and report anything that needs repaired. Once he has that done, he opens the doors and windows, because he knows it will get hot in here soon enough.

He’s quite surprised when he finds a pile of papers that are all the measurements for different items around the shire including the sizes of locks, the metal framing for windows, door handles, cupboard handles, pipes, sinks, tubs, and a variety of other metal items.

Perfect, particularly since he had forgotten to measure Bilbo’s locks before leaving the hobbit hole.

As soon as he has the measurements correct in his head, he sets to work.

A few hours later a pair of middle aged hobbits enter and wait politely while he finishes what he is doing. Once he is done, the taller of the two steps forward, “Good afternoon, sir, I was wondering, if you had the time, if you would fix out pot.” The hobbit holds out a small sauce pan, and he can immediately see where the bottom is beginning to thin too much. “We would of course reimburse you for the time.”

Carefully taking the pot, he runs his hands over it, checking for other spots, and gives them an estimate of how long it will take to fix. They agree and promise to return later in the afternoon.

Setting the pot down, he finishes the last little bit he has on the lock, then turns to working on the small pot. He has just finished it when several other hobbits enter, each carrying something small that looks like it needs to be repaired. Having a feeling he is about to be rather busy, he grabs the paper and pen, so he can take notes on what each one needs and the order he receives them in. Every one of the hobbits that he speaks with is polite and courteous. Most promise to come back the next day or day after for their item, giving him plenty of time to work. When he makes sure to tell them he is only going to be available for a week, they are polite about that as well, understanding that he probably cannot do any big commissions.

All that ends when a rather robust hobbit woman comes storming in, pushing her way past hobbits who have been waiting patiently for him to get to their commission or repair.He ignores her as she stops directly beside the hobbit he is speaking to, and tries yelling over the older gentleman.

When he notices that his customer keeps flinching, he holds up his hand to indicate one moment to the polite hobbit and turns his attention to this howler.

“Your name,” he polite states.

“Lobelia Sackville-Baggins,” she promptly responds in a shrill voice.

“Did you parents forget to teach you manners or do you intentionally disrespect them and the others in the room by forgetting them?” He inquires blandly.

Her face starts to turn a rather interesting shade of red, somewhere between the dark red of drying blood and the bright red of heated metal.

“How dare you! You rude arrogant dwarf!” She screeches angrily.

“Very easily, Mrs. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, very easily. You see, you pushed your way in here, rather than waiting like a civilized hobbit, then you spoke over the person who I was already speaking with, and became progressively ruder the longer our conversation continued.” He answers seriously, “Now then, if you would like something done, you can go to the back of the line, and wait for your turn like everyone else. Or you can leave and wait until the next smith comes to town, whenever that will be.” He smiles tightly, “If you choose neither, I will physically remove you from the premises and then inquire of one of these polite people how I would go about reporting you for disturbing the peace.”

He turns his attention back to his original customer, motioning for the man to continue with his hand and an encouraging smile.

Roughly five minutes pass with her just standing there staring like a beached fish and he has completed the conversation with the customer before he looks at her again, “Do I need to assist you in leaving?” his tone is mild but his smile is anything but.

She storms out, grumbling the entire time about rude dwarves and how she is going to report him.

The next hobbit in line, steps up, commenting timidly, “Please don’t judge the rest of us on her. We suspect she was dropped one too many times as a fauntling.”

“Sir, I have found the rest of the hobbits to be polite and patient, willing to understand my limitations. It is no one’s fault but her own that she looks bad.” He replies softly, trying for reassuring.

The hobbit nods, and the conversation turns to the work he needs done.

Roughly halfway through his day, a pair of hobbits he had seen at the Hall the previous day brings him lunch, citing that it is only right since he is working before heading off.

That sets the tone for the rest of the week, and the time he works at the forge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Publishing schedule, I will try & update one or two stories on Saturday, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.
> 
> Tumblr about my writing [JaimiStoryTeller](http://jaimistoryteller.tumblr.com/money)
> 
> I love reviews, comments, and any other sort of communication, feel free to stop in to say hi

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments would be greatly appreciated, thank you to any one for any form of communication, I love it and it keeps me writing!
> 
> Tumblr about my stories: [ JaimiStoryTeller](http://jaimistoryteller.tumblr.com/)


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